


Like a Fairytale

by lucycamui



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Baker!Yuuri, Except not because it's a fairytale, Fluff, Grand Prix Final Banquet, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prince!Victor, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucycamui/pseuds/lucycamui
Summary: In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his 'Cinderella' Yuuri.(And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he's doing).“The crown prince of the Nikiforov kingdom, infatuated with a mystery pastry chef he’s only just met. This is exactly the kind of scandalous love story my life has been missing… So, what’s he look like? What exactly is Prince Victor’s type?”“…Sweet.”“Well, he does make pastries."





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Magyar available: [Mint egy Tündérmese](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235897) by [Celdria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celdria/pseuds/Celdria)



“Yuuri, you have to go to this banquet!”

“No, I don’t.”

“But you keep promising! And it’s the perfect chance!”

Yuuri lifted his arm and used the back of his wrist to adjust his glasses, then swept his black bangs out of his face, leaving a trail of flour across his forehead. He then returned his attention to the dough laid out before him, digging the heels of his palms into its pliable texture again. _Almost there._ “No, it’ll be a waste of time.”

“But what if _he’s_ there?” Mila put all her stress on the pronoun, like she always did when mentioning a certain someone. 

“Of course he’s going to be there! It’s a royal party,” Yuuri sighed then paused again. “Flour?”

Mila obediently sprinkled pinchfuls of flour onto the countertop in front of Yuuri, and then he put his weight into the ball of dough again. “You could meet him,” Mila mused, shaking a thoughtful finger at Yuuri. “Oh, do you think there’ll be dancing? Wait, stupid question, of course there will be dancing.” She stepped back and lifted her arms over her head and then twirled gracefully. “You can meet him and dance into the sunrise together!”

“I really don’t think he would ever come into the kitchens, so how would I meet him?” Yuuri questioned her logic.

“You could sneak out,” the redhead winked at Yuuri as she finished twirling, plopping one elbow down on the counter, resting her chin on her palm. “Or, someone’s gotta bring all the cakes out for them to stuff their faces, you could bring them out yourself?”

Yuuri let out a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “They’ve got people more proper to take care of that. All my parents ever see are the doors, and the kitchens.” On the occasions that the palace threw its splendid parties, the Katsukis would often provide all manners of sweets for the celebration, as their bakery was heralded as one of the best in the kingdom. In the previous years, Yuuri always elected to stay behind at the shop while everyone else went out to make the delivery.

They had seen the list that had come in that morning, detailing the order for that year’s annual banquet which celebrated the long-standing truce between the neighboring kingdoms. The paper had hit the floor when it unraveled. Chocolate walnut éclairs, browned-butter spritz, raspberry zabagliones, glazed strawberry tarts, meringue nests with citrus custard, cranberry zephyrs… they would have to import ingredients for that one. 

Yuuri and Mila had both stared at the list with slack jaws. It was more than normal. There was a note midway down asking if it was possible to make a life-sized swan out of choux pastry and chantilly cream. Mila had read that and breathed out, “the fuck?!” Yuuri had not echoed her words, but agreed with her sentiments mentally. 

“But, it’s _him,_ Yuuri!”

Yuuri ripped the dough into quarters and rolled each section into a perfectly round ball. “And what? What would I even do if I did meet him? Stare awkwardly until some guards carry me off?”

“You can shove one of your amazing macarons into his mouth and watch him helplessly fall in love with you?” she suggested.

“Yeah, right.” Yuuri’s tone dripped with as much skepticism as his mother’s signature baklava dripped with honey. 

“Or you can shove something else in his mouth.”

Yuuri’s hands slipped and smashed into the dough, distorting its shape completely. “Mila! He’s the prince!” He sighed and restarted, using his palms to gently stretch out the dough into a long, thick rope.

“And I can’t believe you are not taking every opportunity to get close to him! You’ve been head over heels for him for yeeeeears but you’ve never once gone over to the palace when you’ve had the chance.”

Yuuri paused, vision unfocusing as he gazed down at the counter in front of him. 

When Yuuri had been twelve years old, the royal procession had ridden through the center of the capital. Yuuri had been out with his mother, to deliver some pastries. He had never seen anything like it before. The carriages had been pulled by white horses with manes that shone like fresh morning snow, the panels of the carriage painted rich with shades of deep purples and red that Yuuri had never known existed, the sidings carved with birds which looked so lifelike that they could fly off and intricate flowers which had petals lined with gold. It all looked like something out of the picture books his father sometimes brought home for him. 

But none of that wonder compared to when someone leaned out of one of the windows of a carriage, and caught Yuuri’s wide-eyed stare. The brightness of the smile and the gleam of the ice-blue eyes Yuuri witnessed made his young heart pound a bruise against the inside of his ribcage. The forward movement of the carriage combined with a gust of wind swept up long strands of shining silver hair, letting them catch the sunlight and Yuuri’s attention in a flash of a moment before the horses raced off, and took the beauty Yuuri witnessed with it. 

From then on, any time that a procession would ride through the city or there were any events at which the royal family would appear, Yuuri went to try to catch a glimpse of the eldest of the two princes. He was always a sight to behold. Tall and well built, with skin so fair that Yuuri found it a wonder that it did not burn pink the second the sun graced it. Even from a distance, those blue eyes seemed to sparkle brightly, calling out to Yuuri to draw closer, but the way his hands tended to tremble whenever he thought about moving nearer prevented him from answering their beckon. 

_Next time,_ he told himself each time his parents asked if he wanted to come with them when they dropped off the bakery’s specially prepared confections at the palace. _Next time._ He would get over his nerves next time, he would go next time. But his nerves never lessened, because with each of those little glimpses he kept catching over the years, the prince only seemed to get more beautiful and Yuuri more intimidated. 

Sharpening his focus back on the task at hand, Yuuri spun the dough in his hands, twisting each one into a thick but elegant braid. “Can you get me the peel?” he asked Mila and she sighed but grabbed it, setting it down forcefully in front of her friend.

“Yuuri, please.”

Dusting the surface of the wooden paddle with a light layer of flour, Yuuri quickly arranged the prepared loaves onto it before washing the tops with beaten egg. “I will! I will…” Mila’s eyes lit up for a moment, but Yuuri moved around her to transfer the dough into the masonry oven. Her hopeful look died when Yuuri cleaned his hands on a damp towel and finished his statement, “…one day…”

Groaning, Mila sunk down onto the countertop in defeat, sprawling her arms out in front of her. “This is the shittiest love story ever,” she complained.

“That’s because it’s not a love story,” Yuuri said and exhaled sharply, looking around their small bakery kitchen and then at the carefully hung list of the orders the palace had sent over that morning. It was going to be more work than usual. Yuuri knew that there was no possible way they would be able to complete everything in-home and that a few of the items requested would have to be made at the palace the day of the banquet to ensure the best quality. “Do we have any other special orders?”

“Just that.” Mila pointed at the same list without looking up, still acting out her drama. Yuuri chose to ignore it. She would get over it quicker that way.

“I guess we should start on the prep then.” Yuuri massaged the back of his neck. “There’s a lot we are going to have to buy…”

“Are you really gonna make them a choux swan?” She peeked up at Yuuri with expectation.

The two of them, along with Yuuri’s parents, had agreed that the request was beyond ridiculous, too technical and too time-consuming, and that the probability of perfecting something like that with limited time was low. But then Yuuri thought about how beautifully the prince might smile if he saw it and… 

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

~~~~~~~

“Yura, what time is it?” Victor laid on his king-sized (prince-sized?) bed, atop the luxurious goose-feather comforters, surrounded by an overindulgent amount of decorative pillows, and it still did not feel as comfortable or snuggly or reassuring as he wanted it. He had tried hugging his poodle tightly to fix that feeling, but Makkachin only whined in protest at the excessive cuddling and moved to lay down at Victor’s feet, leaving the prince to pout.

“Only two minutes since you last asked that question. Stop asking!” His younger brother snapped back, sitting off to the side of Victor’s room. The blonde’s legs were thrown over the side of the armchair he lounged in and he held a book over his head, flipping through the pages with disinterest.

“But I’m booooored,” Victor whined, grabbing a pillow to hug to his chest, but then decided it was not plush enough so he tossed it aside before grabbing another one. Huh, too plush. Off the bed it went. “When’s everyone getting here?”

“Three hours. Why? You don’t even like these banquets,” Yuri reminded blankly. “It’s gonna be the exact same thing as last year. The Crispino twins are gonna end up making some scene and Christophe is gonna spend the whole time making inappropriate comments at every opportunity. Why are all the other royals so fucking weird?”

“Was Jean-Jacques invited after all?”

“Of course! His family has finally started talking with Father again after the shit you pulled two years ago. Which reminds me, Father says I’m in charge of making sure you don’t do anything to insult Jean-Jacques again, so don’t make me hurt you today.” Yuri glared pointedly. 

Victor pushed another pillow off onto the growing pile on the floor beside his bed. “But I was thinking of introducing this game where everyone has to talk without using a determined letter of the alphabet…”

“J?”

Victor giggled. “Yeah, super easy for everyone except him. It’ll be _hilarious_.”

“I will hurt you, Vitya,” Yuri threatened.

Pouting again, Victor gazed up at the canopy over his bed, counting the petals in the flowers embroidered above his head. There were twenty-four in that particular bunch. He had counted them a million times during bouts of boredom, knew the Latin names of the species even, knew the exact angle of the thorns in the roses, knew the amount of feathers detailed on each bird—

He sat up bolt-upright. “What time is it?!”

Yuri rolled his eyes and slammed his book shut with expressive force. “One minute since you last asked!” he snapped, shooting daggers at Victor with his eyes, but then saw the excited anticipation on his older brother’s face and sighed. “12:47. You skipped lunch cause you were too busy complaining about tonight. Why?”

Shoving pillows away from him, Victor scrambled off the bed, giving Makkachin a quick apology when his sudden departure disturbed the sleeping poodle. “Because it means the bakers are already here!! Yura, let’s go raid the kitchens!”

“Can’t you wait till the banquet?” Yuri asked, not moving from his position.

“I’ve been waiting all week for those amazing oreshki they always bring! Don’t you want to try everything while it’s fresh?”

“No,” Yuri deadpanned.

“And what if they actually made the swan? Don’t you wanna see it? I really hope they made it! What if they’re making it right now? How amazing will that be? Let’s go see it!!”

Yuri simply glared back at his brother through narrowed green eyes. Victor got the message and shrugged, checking his reflection in the mirror. He smoothed out the ruffled strands of silver hair at the back of his head before skipping out of the room.

“Don’t trip!” Yuri shouted after him. Before Victor was too far down the hall and out of earshot, he heard his brother call out a loud follow-up. “If you’re really going, grab me some zephyrs! Just because they’re not worth the effort of me getting them myself!”

Victor laughed in delight and swiftly ran down toward the kitchens. They were so worth the effort.

~~~~~~~

The door had barely shut behind them when Mila latched onto Yuuri.

“Yaaaaaay, I’m so happy!”

Yuuri tried to push Mila off him as she practically choked him with the strength of her hug. She only clung tighter and ground her knuckles into the top of his head. Painfully. Too much affection. Yuuri managed to duck out from under her, instantly putting distance between them by moving to the other side of the coach they were riding in.

“Okay, I’m not happy that your mom almost broke her ankle going down the stairs this morning, that’s like really bad, but if it had to happen sometime then today’s the best day for it!” She clapped her hands in delight.

Yuuri rubbed at his scalp, trying to soothe the pain still prickling through it. “Uhhh, yeah… sure…” In his opinion, it was not the best day for his mother to suffer a minor injury. Well, there was no such thing as a best day for that kind of thing, but today was the worst day. He had come down to his family’s living room in the morning to find his mother sitting with her leg propped up, his father pressing ice to her ankle, which was swollen, red, and angry. Yuuri knew right away from their faces what was expected of him in that moment.

His father had escorted his limping mother out of the house, to the doctor living not too far away. But Yuuri was well aware there was no way his mother would be able to return home and walk properly well enough to go to the palace that day. His parents were apologetic. Mila was ecstatic. Yuuri was terrified.

 _Deep breaths._ He told himself as Mila chattered on about how she was so thrilled that Yuuri was finally going to get to see the palace. The palace. Deep breaths. In, out. Calm. He was calm. They weren’t even there yet. No need to worry. It was going to be fine. 

They were going to get there, arrange everything they had prepared ahead of time, make the few things they still needed to, construct the swan, and get out. He would be calm. He would be professional. It was no big deal. They would just be in the kitchens the whole time. Yuuri could do this. Calm. No need to freak out. It was not like the prince would ever come down to kitchens anyway—oh no, he had thought about the prince. Don’t think about the prince! Calm, Yuuri! Deep breaths, Yuuri! Don’t think about the prince, Yuuri! The prince with his gorgeous blue eyes and his unbelievable hair and those full lips that had an impossible way of turning up into the most beautiful heart-shaped smile. What would it look like up close. He bet those lips were so soft too, supple and plush, maybe tasting of mascarpone because Yuuri had heard his parents mention the prince really liked the tiramisu Yuuri made last year. What would that taste like coming off the prince’s tongu— No, Yuuri! Don’t think about things like that! Calm! Deep breaths! Get your mind off th— oh god he was hyperventilating.

There was an arm around his shoulder and Mila handed him a handkerchief, which Yuuri pressed against his mouth, trying to calm himself. He could faintly make out Mila’s voice coming from beside him, so he concentrated on it. She was talking insistently, not pausing.

“So I was thinking of arranging the plates differently. Your parents always set everything out side by side but it takes up so much space, even if the tables are huge—and they are huge, you’ll see—but I saw last time that they have these triple-deck stand things, so we can organize everything by flavors that compliment each other, or maybe arrange them by sweetness. Like have the sweetest ones on the bottom and the most subtle ones on top so people can easily choose what suits them best without guessing. Oh, and I was thinking that—” 

Yuuri breathed easier as Mila continued spouting off her ideas, letting her creativity run wild since Yuuri’s parents were not there to reign her in. 

“—And if that swan comes together well, I brought the indigo dye so we can color the bottom and make it look like it’s gliding on water and really blow everyone away—”

Yuuri closed his eyes, picturing what she talked about and nodded, his heartbeat gradually slowing to a manageable pace. Releasing a slow and steady exhale, Yuuri lowered the handkerchief from his mouth. “Thanks…”

Mila smiled back gently and squeezed his shoulder. Then her eyes flickered to the window as their coach halted. “We’re here!” She glanced back at Yuuri, searching his face. “You ready?”

Yuuri let out one more slow, calming breath. “Yeah. I’m going to be fine,” he said and stepped out of the coach after her, handing over some of the boxes of sweets they had brought with them. He took a few others for himself, and some palace attendants rushed over to help with the rest. “I’m going to be fine,” he repeated out loud, then kept saying the words to himself as hey made their way up to the palace. He was going to be fine. Just fine. Calm and professional. Fine. Just fine.

The mantra ceased unconsciously the moment Yuuri set foot in the palace kitchens. He was not sure what he was expecting. Actually, he had not been expecting anything, not really having put in much thought into what they would be like. His parents mentioned that they were impressive, and Mila had commented on how they were much bigger than that of their bakery, but this was beyond that. It was grand. Extravagant. Awe-striking. Royal.

The counters were solid marble, almost radiating light from the stark white which was only interrupted by naturally artistic webbing. Yuuri could have cried with how beautiful it was. There was so much space, the counters stretching far and clean, and Yuuri could tell instantly that he would have room to prepare at least five different desserts at once. There was the perfect amount of distance between the islands to move freely, but everything sat close enough that he would not waste time running around to grab things that he needed, unlike back at in his own kitchen, where everything was scattered wherever there was room for it. 

The pantries (plural!) were fully stocked with at least fourteen different types of flour, eight types of sugar, the shelves almost groaning under the weight of fresh and dried fruits, herbs and spices, edible flowers, and there was a floor-to-ceiling ice box that was delightfully cold when Yuuri peeked into it, seeing creams and milks and butters and cartons upon cartons of fresh eggs and he felt like he could die happy right at that moment. “It’s so…”

“Much?” Mila offered.

“Perfect!” Suddenly, Yuuri regretted not coming years before, because he could have lost himself for hours in here, creating anything his heart desired. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Yuuri looked around once more, noting the layout, mind already buzzing with what he needed to prep and how to best arrange everything. He could see the palace kitchen staff standing at attention off to the side, ready to jump to action the moment he gave the word.

Yuuri rolled up his sleeves and grabbed an unconceivably white apron hanging nearby, wrapping it around his waist, tugging the ties tight. He was excited.

“Let’s get started!”

~~~~~~~

Brilliant sunlight streamed in through the massive windows and glass doors lining the halls which led alongside the courtyard, providing a breathtaking view of the blooming gardens outside, but Victor hardly noticed them. His mind was already at the end of the hallway and down the staircase, in the back corridors which led to the kitchens. He knew that he should not be bothering the kitchen staff and the visiting bakers but he could not help himself. It was really the one thing he looked forward to at every party the palace hosted.

Maybe he was biased but when Victor visited the neighboring kingdoms to attend their functions, the confections never seemed to be quite as good as the ones brought into his home. 

Victor had to side-step quickly to avoid colliding with a few of the palace attendants as he rushed toward the kitchens, eyes scanning over some of the trays they carried. Huh, they were using the three-tiered serving stands, that was different. The thought faded rapidly as he saw the neat arrangements of bite-sized rhubarb tarts and princess tea cakes be carried past him, the attendants dipping their heads in respectful greeting to him. He knew no one would stop him, so he slipped swiftly between a couple more attendants and through the double-doors.

Oh wow. The kitchens hummed with activity. The white of the marble countertops was obstructed almost entirely, with beautifully-colored desserts all carefully being transferred to servings trays, arranged in ways that would be pleasing to any set of eyes. Victor caught glimpses of a few of his favorites—oh and there were the zephyrs that Yuri wanted, tinted a brilliantly deep pink— then he searched the kitchen for… There it was. 

They actually made it. Victor could hardly believe it. He dodged past more attendants and trays of desserts, beaming with joy as he made his way toward the back walls, where someone was carefully sculpting wings out of cream, perfecting the marvelous details on the full-sized swan which sat on a large silver tray. Its neck curved elegantly, beak made from smooth and solid orange marzipan, black beaded eyes shimmering with convincing glaze.

Victor trained his attention on the graceful and skilled flicks of the wrist with which a young man carved detail into the cream wings, making individual feathers that looked real enough to permit the bird to soar right out of the kitchen. It would be a shame to eat it. Leaning over the back of the sculptor, Victor tried to see more of the exquisite creation, unable to hold in his excitement when the man working on it paused, seemingly satisfied. “Wow, amazing!” Victor exclaimed.

“Ahhh, thank you.” 

The answer came softly, voice gentle and quiet, shy as if the creator did not quite believe the compliment he had been paid. Victor took half a step back when the silver tray with the swan on it was picked up with considered caution, shifting away to make room, and then the young man turned to face him. 

Delicate brown eyes met Victor’s, and the prince forgot about the swan because the man holding it was far more lovely. His dark hair was ruffled with work, unruly strands charming. There was a smear of chantilly cream across one of his cheeks, unnoticed by its host, and Victor was very tempted to reach up and clean it off for him. Pink lips were parted and releasing slightly elevated breaths. He looked a little overwhelmed, no doubt from all the hustle of the kitchens and concentration with which he had just finished decorating the grand centerpiece. How cute. Victor felt it was only appropriate to introduce himself to someone so captivating. 

“Hi! I’m Victor!” It did not matter if it was something that everyone should know. He just wanted the young man in front of him to know. Because Victor did not recognize him and felt like that was very unfortunate and wanted to rectify that problem immediately.

The lovely man blinked up at him. His beautiful brown eyes grew wide and his lips parted a little wider. And then…

Yuuri dropped the swan.


	2. In a Kingdom Not So Far Away

Victor had spent the better part of his life looking after his younger brother. 

The first time that Victor had held baby Yuri in his arms, under the careful eyes of his parents, the younger prince had reacted by screaming and kicking. And he had not really stopped since then. It mellowed a little when he had grown out of his toddler years, then come back in full force pretty much at midnight on his thirteenth birthday. 

In the last two years, looking after Yuri had devolved more into avoiding the teenager’s mood swings and occasional outbursts of wrath which resulted from any number of stupid things that Victor did (like dyeing one of Yuri’s cats a dazzling shade of green once—totally not on purpose though… maybe—it was supposed to match the color of Yuri’s eyes but apparently he could not appreciate that fact). 

Through this, Victor had become very accustomed to dodging any combination of kicks and punches that Yuri sometimes directed his way (in a loving, brotherly way, and they never hurt much anyway). Victor had also become extremely skilled at catching various objects that the blonde would at times lob at him in irritation. Namely things like crumpled pages from texts the younger prince was supposed to be studying from, cushions, pillows, assorted knick-knacks, the occasional shoe, whatever Yuri happened to have in his hands or was within arms reach at the moment that Victor irritated him. 

A few weeks prior, Yuri had thrown a thick binding full of maps detailing the borders of the neighboring kingdoms at Victor’s feet when his older brother would not stop bugging him to ditch his studies and come out to the gardens to keep Victor some company. Victor had been distracted in the moment and not had time to jump out of the way like he normally did, resulting in the heavy text nearly crushing his toes. Yuri had actually muttered an apology for that one before stalking off to sulk somewhere. It had made Victor smile, knowing that his younger brother _cared_ even if he had more non-traditional ways of showing it. 

However, all-in-all, it meant that Victor’s reaction times and his eye-hand coordination faced constant unpredictable testing.

Victor caught the swan, managing to clasp onto the silver hands of the tray the moment before it would have smashed into the floor. The sudden halt in downward motion jolted the bird, distorting some of the detail in its wings, tilting it off its center and permitting its long and elegant neck to sway dangerously for a second before settling. 

The hustle and noise in the kitchens froze, silent and unmoving as Victor set the tray and the now slightly-less-than-perfect creation back onto the countertop. The moment the swan was safely back on a counter, the many pairs of eyes that had been trained on the prince and the young man who had dropped the swan quickly turned away, returning professionally, if not regrettably, to their duties. 

Victor, however, could feel his heart thumping rapidly in his chest from the brief spike of adrenaline. “Wow, that was close,” he laughed more in relief than anything, glancing at the young man standing beside him. Victor caught a brief look of his adorably horror-stricken expression before the man ducked his head, his messy black hair falling to obstruct his face.

“I’m so s-sorry—oh my god—I can’t believe, I—are you—is it—your—” The young man stammered, unable to finish a single thought before skipping to the next one, clearly shaken. 

The thought of _how cute_ passed through his mind again before Victor hastened to reassure him, waving his hands to dismiss the panic he heard coming through the other’s voice. “No, don’t be sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to surprise you! But look, it’s okay!” 

The swan was obviously disturbed, a little off-kilter, one of the eyes having slipped from its position to give its face a lop-sided quality, but it was still in one piece and way better than anything Victor could ever hope to produce. “It just needs a little… touch-up?” he suggested, hoping that the gentle tone in his voice would raise the other’s face back up.

Instead, the young man turned his attention strictly to the swan, his focus straight ahead. His brow furrowed in concentration as he examined the minor damages, and Victor could see how his eyes seemed to twitch, as if wanting to glance toward the prince standing beside him but too afraid. Which was disheartening. Victor did not think himself as that intimidating, despite his status. Perhaps he was a bit spoiled and used to getting most of whatever he wanted as a result of his birthright, but he always made sure to be kind to the attendants and any visitors that entered the palace. 

Stepping forward, Victor craned his neck a little, trying to get a better look at the man next to him. The prince noticed the deep color of the flush on his cheeks and the subtle way he turned his shoulders away from Victor, as if determined to keep himself from making any sort of eye contact. Okay, maybe surprising someone who was clearly hard at work with the sudden appearance of a member of the royal family had not been well-advised. Especially someone Victor had not seen before. He could understand how that might be shocking. He had just been so excited to see that someone had actually made something so incredible… He could make up for that. 

“Look, we can fix it, all you need to do is—” He reached forward, intent on pushing the swan back to the center, only to have his wrist grabbed and halted.

“Don’t touch it!” 

Victor blinked. Well, that was unexpected. Fingers wrapped firm and warm around Victor’s wrist, gripping on with a sort of reassuring force, only for a second before their owner seemed to register what he had done and snapped back, releasing the prince’s wrist. Victor caught a glimpse of the blush deepening to an impossibly dark shade of pink on the increasingly-flustered man’s face, before he turned away again, letting out a quiet stammer. 

“F-forgive me, I—… I can fix it, just… Please don’t… can you… can you… move?”

Victor realized he was standing directly in front of the swan, preventing its creator from getting access to it, so he stepped aside obediently. Any question or comment that had been at the tip of his tongue was forgotten instantly the moment the young man started to fix the swan. He moved with deft and finesse that was a sharp contrast to the hesitant and unsettled way he had addressed Victor. 

Delicately, he adjusted the position of the swan, using a blunt butter knife to smooth the blue icing which imitated water at the base of the tray, blending out the colors with a single stroke to imitate the previously-perfect shimmering reflection of the swan above. Then the knife was gone and Victor was not even sure where it disappeared to as the bird’s eyes were returned to their original resting places. Then, attention was set to the distorted wings, the details re-sculpted with an icing spatula. The speed and grace with which the man switched between using the flat of it to draw out the proper length of the feathers once more and then carving the lines with the edge left Victor staring in awe. It was well beyond watching an artist at work, it was like witnessing magic being conjured. 

Within mere minutes, the swan was restored and Victor thought it looked even better than before, floating proud and tall, as if it were aware that it had just miraculously saved from an abrupt and disastrous death. 

“That’s incredible… You’re incredible!” His blue eyes flew up to try to catch the other’s brown gaze, a flash of disappointment sinking into his chest when Victor saw that the young man had turned away from him again and was instead beckoning to one of the kitchen attendants.

Victor was not used to this. Being ignored. He tended to be the center of attention when he was in a room, stealing the attention of whomever was near, well aware that it usually only had to do in part with his title. How many times had he listened to croons about how charming he was, how lovely, how beautiful, how he was impossible to turn away from, and yet here was the object of his interest doing exactly that. He could have pouted, but what good would that have done if the person he wanted to witness it had not glanced in his direction even once? 

“Ummm, can you… can you take this out to the ballroom? Please be careful. I don’t want to… I don’t want to drop it again.” Victor heard that soft and hesitant voice again, seeing an attendant nod and carefully lift the swan up once more, carrying it away and out of the kitchens. 

Maybe that was it. Victor wondered if he should apologize again, more clearly this time, for springing up so suddenly and making him drop the swan. Victor had no idea exactly how much work had gone into it the first time around, but he could guess that something like that was not a simple feat to achieve, no matter how elegantly easy the young man made it seem. “I—” 

Victor turned his head from side to side, losing his words again. There was no one beside him. His eyes scanned the rest of the kitchen, looking carefully for that head of messy black hair, but the young man was nowhere to be found. Victor caught the nearest attendant by the arm, almost making them drop another tray full of desserts as he demanded to know if they had seen him leave, but all he received was a respectfully addressed apology. 

The prince rushed out to the ballroom to see if perhaps the young man had followed the swan out to ensure it reached its destination safely, but all he found was the bird, placed at the center of a beautifully arranged table that seemed to sit a centimeter shorter under the weight of all the desserts sprawled across it, yet Victor found himself wanting none of them. Instead, he looked into the beaded eyes of the impossibly realistic swan, which glimmered mockingly back at him. “What?!” he challenged it. “Are you going to tell me where he went or not?” 

The swan, expectedly, did not answer.

He narrowed his eyes at it, then departed from the ballroom. 

Victor looked everywhere. The reception hall where decorations were being finalized in anticipation of the arrival of the other royal families and representatives, then the throne room, the great hall, the sitting rooms, the attendants’ quarters, the guard houses and the courtyard, all the bed chambers, even the baths. Victor knew it was unlikely for him to be anywhere far from the kitchens, but once he started searching, he did not want to give up.

The prince ended up shuffling back into his own bedroom, a little out of breath and more than a little crestfallen. Yuri, still lounging in the armchair but now with Makkachin’s head in his lap, cast him a sidelong glare. “Took you long enough, where’d you go, the next kingdom?!”

“You didn’t happen to see someone run by, did you?” Victor huffed with a drop of hope in his voice.

“The hell kind of question is that?!” Yuri spat back, finally kicking his legs off the arm of the chair, sitting up straight. Makkachin whined and moved away, padding back toward Victor’s bed. “Where’re the zephyrs?”

“Oh.” Victor had totally forgotten. Yuri could not blame him though, could he, if he understood? “I didn’t bring any.”

It was hard to say exactly how sour Yuri’s scowl could turn. He constantly found new depths for it. Victor was seeing a brand new version at that moment. He would have to update his mental ‘Yuri Irritation Index’ to include, _forgetting to bring Yuri the zephyrs that he will not admit to liking._ “Exactly what were you doing the whole time then?!”

“Yura, have you ever met the bakers that bring the sweets for the banquets?” Victor asked, ignoring his brother’s question altogether. 

“Why would I? I don’t go around to the kitchens!” 

“Did we bring in any new attendants recently? I thought I knew everyone…”

Yuri’s scowl morphed into a quizzical look that did not suit him quite as well. “What are you babbling about? How in the hell’s name should I know?”

Victor made a note to remind Yuri to be a bit more reserved with his language once the banquet got underway. “They made the swan.”

“And? So what? I don’t care, you’re the only one who wanted that thing. Don’t even see why,” Yuri grumbled dismissively, pushing himself off the armchair. “I’ll see it later anyway. And Georgi came by while you were off doing whatever. Said we need to start getting ready. He’s bringing the clothes now.”

“Are you sure you don’t know if there’s someone new here? I’ve met the bakers before, but I’ve never seen him before.”

Yuri let out a heavily exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re not even listening to me… Who are you talking about?”

“He made the swan.”

“Fantastic. That tells me nothing, genius. What’s his name?” 

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Wow, brilliant. Great. So much help. What’d he look like?”

Victor thought back to those wide and warm brown eyes, the dark eyelashes which had fluttered up at him, the full but slightly chapped lips, the messy black hair which had been dusted with spots of flour, and that captivating blush which had spread across the bridge of his adorable nose. “Perfect.”

“Ugh, gross.”

Before Victor could say anything more, he was cut off by a shriek. Yuri winced and Victor just turned toward the doorway, “Hi, Georgi.”

“My prince, your hair! Your clothes! What have you done with yourself?! Are you sweating?! What is that on your… Is that cream or— No, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know!” 

Admitting to racing through every part of the palace in a foolish search was probably not a good idea, but Georgi did not give Victor a chance to answer anyway. The royal dresser moved quickly into the room, setting down layers of neatly folded clothing atop Victor’s bed. “Why must you punish me like this, your highness?! Why can I never have a normal day with you? Dear Yuri never gives me any trouble, nor does your father, why is it always you?”

Almost reluctantly, Victor started to strip off his rather disheveled clothing, knowing that Georgi’s scolding would not stop until well after the banquet. Yuri’s chuckle behind him was just as mocking as the swan’s eyes had been back in the ballroom. Well, at least Victor was no longer bored. “Georgi, I have a question for you. Do you know of any new palace attendants?”

~~~~~~~

“Yuuri, I need you to look at me. Yuuri, come on, look at me. Please.”

Yuuri kept his eyes closed, arms wound tightly around his knees which were drawn up to his chest. He sat at the back of one of the pantries, trying very hard to convince his racing heart to slow down. _I grabbed the prince. I_ grabbed _the prince. I grabbed the prince and snapped at him and told him not to do something and then I told him to move. Oh my god I told the prince to move._

“Okay, you don’t have to look at me, but can you talk to me?”

Yuuri tried to open his mouth to respond to Mila’s gently pulling words, but all that came out as a choked exhale, so he shut it again, biting at the fabric of his apron. 

He had dropped the swan. He had dropped the swan because for some impossible reason the _prince_ had shown up and looked straight into his eyes and then _smiled._ Yuuri had not even heard what the prince had said to him the next moment because who could possibly listen to anything when those piercing blue eyes looked directly at him and those lips had tugged up into that heart-shaped smile that Yuuri had always so admired, except this time it was _right there in front of him._

Yuuri had _dropped_ the swan and then the prince had _caught_ it and tried to apologize to _him._ This had to be some sort of cruel, cruel nightmare. He would wake up from it at any second, sit up in his bed sweating in terror, but then it would be okay because it would not be real. Because then he wouldn’t have told the _prince_ to _move_. And the prince had listened! Why had he listened?! He had listened and just moved and then he had _complimented_ Yuuri… again. What kind of sick nightmare was this…

“Yuuri, please, tell me what happened. Someone said the prince was in here?! What did he do? Did he say something to you? Did he do something? I don’t care if he’s royalty, I will kick his ass!”

Okay, that was too real. Even in a nightmare, Yuuri knew he would not be able to produce the image of Mila threatening to kick the prince’s ass. That idea was almost more terrifying than actually dropping the swan. “No, no… he… he didn’t do a-anything…”

“Did he say something then?! What did he say to you? Don’t listen to him, Yuuri, he doesn’t know anything, he’s just some spoiled palace brat!”

“He said… he said I was… incredible…” That did not sound right coming out of Yuuri’s mouth. It probably did not sound right in Mila’s ears either, because she did not say anything. And Mila always said something. Instead, there was silence in the pantry, save for the heavy sound of Yuuri’s heart still threatening to break out of his chest. Yuuri waited for Mila’s voice, but it did not come, and so he lifted his head.

Mila kneeled in front of him on the floor, her hands balled into fists, resting on her thighs. Her mouth was set in a thin line, strands of her auburn hair escaping from the bun she always wore when working to frame her pretty face. She was looking at Yuuri with such intensity that he almost ducked out from under her gaze. Why was everyone staring at him today?! “He said… what?”

“That… that I was... incredible?” Yuuri tried again, his words ending in a question because he could not be sure of them himself. 

Mila’s expression set into a deeper line of confusion. “Someone said you dropped the swan?” she asked after a moment of careful consideration, trying to piece the story together on her own, because she had been out in the ballroom briefly to supervise the arrangement of the desserts, only to return to find Yuuri hiding, on the verge of a panic attack.

“Yeah, I… I finished it and then I turned around. And he was… right there. Right behind me. And he…”

“He…?” she prompted.

“He introduced himself…”

Mila let out a short scoff. “What, like, _I am His Royal Highness, Prince Victor, Duke of the Western Regions, Royal Member of the Order of the Silver Knights, blah blah blah, bow before my greatness,”_ she imitated in offer.

A smile cracked on Yuuri’s lips. “No, he just said… _Hi, I’m Victor.”_

Mila’s lips parted, then she bit on the lower lip with a curious expression. “That’s… unusual. And what did you say?”

“I didn’t,” Yuuri muttered back, dropping his gaze again. There was a blue streak across the center of his apron, no doubt from the dye he had used to color the icing meant to replicate the surface of the lake that the swan had been situated on. Unconsciously, he checked his rolled up sleeves. Still clean. At least he had that. 

“You didn’t say anything?”

“No, that’s when I dropped the swan…”

“But I saw the swan, one of the attendants was carrying it out to the ballroom. It was fine.”

“Yeah, I… he caught it before it hit the floor.” Yuuri had barely registered what had happened until after the tray and jostled swan had been set back on a countertop, too shocked to realize that he had even let go of it until the prince laughed and nonchalantly commented on it being a close call. “It wasn’t too bad, so I fixed it and had someone else take it out.” He could not trust himself to even think about touching the tray. 

The swan’s life had flashed in front of his eyes and he could so vividly picture it smashed across the floor in a mixture of choux pastry and variously colored creams, like a tragic ending to the badly written play that was Yuuri’s life. Because he was sure that would have been the end of it. It might still be the end of it. He was just delaying the inevitable by hiding in the pantry. Mila had found him in there after merely a minute, how much longer before palace guards showed up to carry him out to the gallows?

“That doesn’t sound like a reason to run and hide?” Yuuri could hear the unspoken _even for you._ Mila knew he was leaving something out. Mila always knew. Even when Yuuri had been twelve and she had been seven, she had already been calling him out on white lies and half-truths. 

“Ummm, well, I might have…” Yuuri curled the hem of his apron around two of his fingers, twisting at the fabric. “He might have tried to touch it and I panicked and… I grabbed his hand to stop him?”

That time, Mila really laughed. “Wow, Yuuri, holding the prince’s hand already, you’re so forward!”

“It’s not a joke! I didn’t just grab him, I yelled at him not to touch it!”

Her laughter faded. “All right, that’s not good. Did he react badly?”

“No…” A bad reaction would have been _normal._ Even from someone who wasn’t royalty, some sort of push back or dismissal would have been expected. If someone had grabbed Yuuri without warning and yelled at him not to do something when he was only trying to help, he probably would have responded with a touch of anger himself. Instead, the prince had stood there and looked at him wordlessly like he was some sort of rare painting. “He didn’t do anything. So I told him I could fix it if he… got out of the way…”

“You told the prince to get out of the way?” Mila repeated incredulously. 

“Not like that. I told him to move.”

“…And he…?”

“…He moved. And he just… watched me…” Yuuri’s hands had been shaking the whole time he had been attempting to restore the swan. It had been bad enough doing it the first time, with Mila and the attendants watching him. He had set every ounce of concentration into making every movement more deliberate than ever before, because if he did not, he would have been all too aware of those striking blue eyes following his every movement. “And then he said that I was… incredible.”

“So… why are you in here?”

“Because I almost dropped the swan onto the prince’s feet and then I grabbed him and yelled at him and told him to move and how the hell do you expect me to react?!”

“Okay, okay, Yuuri, I get that but… How did you go from having the prince telling you that you were _incredible_ to crying in the pantry?”

“Oh… that.” Because as soon as the swan had left the kitchen, Yuuri’s concentration and resolve had broken completely, and he could not stop himself from looking up and over at the prince. Who had been standing next to him the entire time, so close, so close that if Yuuri had wanted to, he could have reached out and touched him, could have reached up and brushed aside the strands of silver hair that looked like they would feel of silk. Because he could not stop himself from thinking how warm the prince’s skin had been under his fingers when Yuuri had grabbed his wrist, how warm the rest of his skin might have felt.

Because Yuuri had in that moment realized that any second the prince’s attention would be back on him and it would process that some nameless baker had the prince to _move_ and any odd sort of gentleness from the shock would fade and Yuuri did not want to be there to face it. How was he supposed to explain that? “…I don’t know.”

Mila sighed heavily and a wave of relief washed over Yuuri, knowing that it meant she had finished her interrogation. His heart was not pounding as loudly anymore, and again, she seemed to know this. “You think you can go back out there? He was gone when I came in.” She chose not to mention the fact that the prince had reportedly rushed out of the kitchens after demanding to know where Yuuri had gone. 

“I… I’m not sure.” Yuuri glanced up at the pantry doors, which were cracked open enough to let in enough light for them not to be sitting in total darkness. 

“We still have work we need to finish, Yuuri,” Mila prompted.

Yuuri continued to twist at the fabric of his apron. “It’s not much… You can do it…”

“We still have the éclairs to glaze and I’m not nearly as steady with the ganache as you,” she said pointedly, but Yuuri did not look up at her. “Yuuri, the palace guests are going to start arriving soon…”

“I… I know.”

“Can I do anything to help you calm down?”

Yuuri was not sure if there was anything that was going to help him relax enough to get back into the kitchens with any sort of confidence when the prince or some guards could storm in after him at any moment. Logically, he knew that the pantry was not much of a safer place, but logic was never going to be the winning suit in this situation. 

“Do you want to finish?”

“….Yes.”

“So, tell me what we can do to calm your nerves because I doubt me telling you not to worry about it is going to work, right?”

Yuuri chewed on his lower lip.

When he did not answer, Mila frowned and tilted her head to the side, concentration hard-lining her expression as she thought, a finger on her chin. Then after a moment, she jerked her head to the side and her eyes went wide. “Oh, I have an idea!” 

She was on her feet and out of the pantry within a millisecond, gone just long enough for Yuuri to sit up with mild curiosity. Then, she was back, shoving a glass into Yuuri’s hands. “Drink.”

Yuuri looked down at the brimming glass in his hands, seeing tiny bubbles popping on the surface of the subtly colored liquid. “Champagne?”

“Yeah, it’s the one we were using for the pastry cream.”

“Mila, I don’t think this is the—”

“Just to tide your nerves over long enough for us to finish and get out of here,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t have any magic potions, but this can be the next best thing? You don’t have to, but then you gotta get yourself out there because if you make me glaze those éclairs, it’ll be both our heads on the chopping block.”

Yuuri watched the champagne bubbles dancing inside the glass, cheerful as they burst, sparkling just like the prince’s eyes and smile had sparkled at him in the moment before Yuuri had dropped that stupid swan. 

He downed the champagne in a single gulp. The fruity accents flooded his tongue and the mild bite of the alcohol tickled at the back of his throat on its way to start buzzing through his bloodstream. 

“I think I’m going to need more than one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course the swan had to live, it'd be far to grim to have a character death like that!
> 
> Also, thanks for all the warm reception on the first chapter! I think we all have an idea of what's coming up next...


	3. There Lived a Prince

“Victor, _mon chéri_! How happy I am to see you!”

Victor leaned in with a genuinely sweet smile, tipping his face from side to side as he accepted the kisses that Chris touched to each of his cheeks. “I’m glad to see you too, Prince Christophe.”

“Oh come on, _chéri_ , don’t address me like that, I know we’re supposed to be all formal but who here is going to question us? Show me some love,” Chris teased as he stepped back, grinning widely. He had been the first of the guests to arrive, shortly before the official start of the royal party, but it was expected at this point. Prince Christophe always came early. 

“As you wish, Chris.” Victor lifted Chris’s hands, which still grasped his, and briefly touched his lips to the back of one of Chris’s palms in greeting. Chris practically sparkled in reaction.

“And my beautiful Yurochka, look at how much you’ve grown!” Chris turned his lavish attention to the younger prince, who scowled and jerked away when Chris tried to kiss his face as well. 

“Don’t!” Yuri snapped.

Chris drew back with a pout, giving Yuri a chance to relax before he swooped in anyway, managing to swipe his lips across one of the blonde’s cheeks. He laughed as Yuri rubbed his skin clean of the kiss with the heel of his palm, making a disgusted face. “Still as feisty as ever, I see.”

“Fuck off.”

“Yuri!” Victor glared at his brother while Chris exaggerated a gasp.

“My, my, I hope you won’t address your kingdom with that mouth,” Chris chuckled and then adjusted the collar of his formal robes, a rich blend of purples and blues, the gems and crystals stitched into the fabric glimmering brilliantly with each of his movements. When Chris had first sauntered into the reception hall, Victor had almost thrown a hand over Yuri’s eyes, because the material of the pants the foreign prince wore was almost obscenely tight, clinging like a second skin to his hips and thighs and all the other places that Victor did not think his younger brother needed to see. Then again, the fashion from Chris’s kingdom had always been rather forward… and questionable. 

Yuri grumbled something about not wanting Chris to have anything to do with his mouth, but Chris ignored it and turned his attention back to the older prince. “Now, Victor, I had something quite serious to discuss with you!” Chris pressed his fingertips into Victor’s chest, the playful gesture betraying the serious tone he was attempting to put on. 

“Really?”

“Yes! In fact, I was so insulted and I can feel my heart breaking even now as I think about it. To think you could be so cruel. What damage this could do to the relationship between our kingdoms!”

Victor’s eyebrows arched high, doubtful. “What did I do, Chris? I haven’t even spoken with you since th—”

“Precisely!” Chris accused. “You missed my birthday celebration! Although saying ‘missed’ probably gives you too much of the benefit of a doubt. You skipped it! And foolish me, I even sealed your invitation myself!”

Suddenly, Victor remembered the day a few months back when Makkachin had been found panting happily amidst a pile of shredded letters, flecks of gold foil speckling his muzzle. Ahhh, that’s what he had eaten… “Oh.”

“Oh?! You wound me, Victor,” Chris sighed in exasperation. “Well, let me tell you, you missed a delight of a party. The entertainment this year! Stunning!” The excitement with which Chris lit up made Victor wonder if he should cover Yuri’s ears before anything more was said. “There’s this new dance form! I’ve never seen anything like it. They have this long vertical beam they use to—you have to see it, I can’t explain it! It’s so exciting, so bold!” Chris paused and then winked suggestively. “I’ve been practicing it myself. If you permit me today, I could probably demonstrate if we jus—”

His enthusiastic ramble was cut off by the attendant at the far end of the hall calling out that another guest had arrived. 

“Announcing, His Royal Highness, Jean-Jacques of Leroy!”

“Behold, are you ready to be graced by King JJ?!” They all heard the distinctive voice of the royal from the kingdom across the ocean.

“Are you going to remind him he’s not quite a king yet?” Chris winked at Victor’s already exasperated expression and stepped aside, leaving them with a knowing and teasing _good luck_ as he allowed an attendant to guide him toward the ballroom.

Victor would have clung to Chris if he had the choice, but instead turned to focus on greeting the string of guests that were be coming through into the reception hall.

After clenching his teeth through the exchange with JJ (Yuri’s elbow digging a subtle but painful reminder into his ribs) Victor welcomed each of the guests that arrived, his eyes occasionally shifting to glance at his brother needlessly, because it was Yuri that kept him in check throughout each of the greetings. Victor was always impressed by how quickly Yuri could adapt to maintain the proper image of a prince when the time called for it.

The Crispino twins came in (followed closely by Emil of Nekola). Victor noticed the attendant making announcements in the doorway scrambled to make an adjustment, presumably because Emil was supposed to have been preceded by another guest but probably had cut in so that he could fall in line with Sara and Michele once they finished greeting their host.

When Seung-gil of Lee arrived, he and Yuri swapped respectful grimaces, and Victor had to bite on his lower lip to keep from giggling at the exchange.

Guang Hong of Ji was as polite and quiet as always, eyes down-turned and cheeks blushing slightly when Victor grasped his hands in greeting. Victor had no doubt the young royal would brighten up later, once Leo of Iglesia also arrived. 

As the reception hall emptied and an attendant came to his side to notify him that the arrivals of all the royal guests and dignitaries on the list were confirmed, Victor let out a heavy sigh. The formality of the royal banquets was always weighing. Yuri clearly thought so too, as the moment he heard the news, he was gone in a flash, muttering something about going to find Duke Otabek, who had journeyed from the south-eastern part of their kingdom. 

Victor went to change from his heavy reception robes into the lighter and less restrictive clothing he would wear for the main festivities in the ballroom, letting Georgi fret over his hair, the dresser combing the silver strands for a seemingly endless amount of time until Victor started complaining that soon there would be nothing left. Finally, he had to swat Georgi’s hands away from his head, after the dresser adjusted his crown for the umpteenth time.

The ballroom almost vibrated with noise when Victor made his way inside, from the combination of music and the chattering voices. He barely had a moment to himself before he found himself exchanging more greetings, more formal pleasantries, getting earfuls from the dignitaries that wanted the prince’s attention and _yes, he had heard of the new trade routes established in the far west_ and _no, he could not confirm when his father might approve the next voyage_ and _he was happy to hear that the harvests were looking to be better than the previous year’s_ and _of course he saw the documents, page thirty-seven, paragraph three, on the fifth line you say, well that’s a bit specific, maybe another quick glance later might be required before he could answer that question adequately_ and _how nice, how lovely, oh, exactly how many more pocket sketches do you have of your new baby, no, no, please, feel free to show them all, oh, that many, wow, still some more, no, go ahead_ and _of course he wanted to see the region’s taxation records—daily figures, umm, perhaps it would be better if this was done at another time_ and... and… and Victor wanted to die.

All of this was exactly why he could hardly tolerate the banquets. The drone of the reports and the inquiries and the polite but pressing statements on all manners of royal duties and responsibilities, that on any other day he would have been happy to hear and address, when there was a time and a place for them, but instead they got pushed onto him even firmer here, when people thought they could steal the prince’s ear for a moment in a bold attempt to force some sort of connection or cling to a slip of a promise. What was the point of having a banquet to celebrate the peace between the kingdoms when every year they bored and frustrated him so much that it made him want to start a war just so he could avoid them. 

Putting on his best princely smile, Victor politely tore himself away from the marquise who had refused to let go of his sleeve for the past twenty minutes. The escape that he had planned was cruelly thwarted when he saw his younger brother surrounded by several countesses that were fawning despite the clear displeasure on his face. 

Off to the side of the ballroom, he could see that Guang Hong and Leo had found each other, chatting softly and pleasantly, staying out of the way of the other guests. Seung-gil was dancing with someone that Victor did not really recognize, his face as steely as always despite his movements being perfectly synced to the upbeat melody played out by the musicians. JJ was entertaining a large group with boisterous movements, flourishing his hands, beaming from ear to ear when everyone laughed loudly at whatever story he had just told. Victor caught sight of Chris doing something with his hips that appeared to be delighting Sara but scandalizing her brother. Meanwhile, Cao Bin seemed to have vanished.

Victor made his way over to the far end of the ballroom, purposefully avoiding eye contact and slipping out from the grasps of a few individuals which he recognized but had no wish to subject himself to in that moment. He found the tables of light foods and heavy pastries set against the back wall, although many of the beautifully arranged trays were significantly emptier than they had been earlier. The swan remained sitting at the center, as prideful as ever. Victor tried not to pay it too much attention. 

A few attendants filtered past, collecting plates that had been cleared of sweets. Victor’s eyes studied their faces quickly, but he recognized each of them and none were the person he hoped to see. His gaze flickered out to patrons of the ballroom again, then with a sigh, he picked up a spritz. The richness spread through his taste buds and he hummed briefly with mild content, reaching for another only to be suddenly grabbed by the shoulder and torn from the table.

“ _Chéri_ , come join us!” Chris’s smile was wide and his skin flushed, no doubt from the influence of the flute of champagne he grasped in one of his hands. “That melancholy you’ve had on your face the whole night really doesn’t compliment your looks!”

“Ah, well, don’t let my melancholy ruin your fun,” Victor responded, glancing briefly at another attendant who paused to hand Chris a newly filled glass. The foreign prince accepted it with a happy exclamation.

“Victor, this is supposed to be a party. We’re here to celebrate! Look at everyone here. Peace between all the kingdoms for how many decades now! A miracle, considering how utterly obnoxious Jean-Jacques can be! Let’s toast to his father’s immortality, because if he’s ever king, I’ll be declaring war myself!” Chris laughed, then continued when Victor did not grant him more than half a smile. “Oh, really now, relax, you should come dance with me. Loosen up and have some fun, even if you’re just doing me the favor.” Chris cast him a pointed look and then a wink, “After all, the way you dance always makes me so happy that I could c—”

“Don’t say it, Christophe!”

Victor laughed at Yuri’s piercing yell, the younger prince storming up to ensure he had permanently cut off Chris’s line of dialogue.

“Oh, _chéri_ , you don’t even know what I was going to say,” Chris met Yuri’s glare. The young prince returned it, challenging. When Chris did not continue, Yuri ducked past Victor to snatch a zephyr off the table behind them and departed again, cheeks ballooned as he chewed on a mouthful of the sweet. 

Victor watched his brother go, slightly more entertained than before, his eyes searching the crowd that Yuri disappeared into.

“Ah, Victor, do tell, where’s your father?”

“He’s visiting Lady Lilia.”

“Oooooh?”

“Strictly business.”

“Of course it is,” Chris replied with a touch of amusement in his voice. “Well, it’s too bad, because we had a bet to settle.”

The smirk on Chris’s face was suspicious. Victor was not sure if he wanted to ask. “Bet?”

“I asked him last time if we could expect a royal wedding any time soon, but he seemed convinced that his eldest would be a bachelor forever. However, the way your eyes keep flirting around the room tells me that I have some of his pride to collect.”

“It’s not exactly that.”

“But it’s something along those lines?” Chris pressed, curious.

Victor opened his mouth to protest, then remembered that he _had_ spent part of his afternoon racing around the entirety of the palace in an impulsive, foolish search for the man that Chris was now questioning him about. “Maybe a little.”

“It’s not JJ, is it?” 

The horror on Victor’s face was disrupted by some cheery shouts from the center of the ballroom. Both he and Chris glanced in the direction of the noise, but saw nothing out of the usual. A few more people had gathered there, perhaps being entertained by one of the other guests. In all the time that Victor had spent politely but torturously engaged in conversations with the different dignitaries, plenty of the guests would have had an equal amount of time to indulge in the champagne. And it should be beginning to show. 

“Well who then? Spit it out.” Chris was not done prying. He followed Victor’s eyes as they wandered again. “An attendant?! Victor, you sly dog.”

“No! I—… I’m not sure who he is,” Victor admitted, knowing Chris would simply carry on until he got the answers he wanted. “I only saw him today, briefly. I didn’t recognize him, and I know everyone in the palace. I think he’s one of the bakers, but I’ve met them before and he’s never been with them.”

“You know that people do hire new staff from time to time,” Chris pointed out.

Whatever commotion was happening out on the floor seemed to be growing. More of the guests were gathering to look on. Victor thought he saw a flash of distinctive blonde hair, but there seemed to be dancing going on and Yuri really was not the type. There were more shouts though, and Victor wondered if he should investigate, but figured that if it was anything unruly, attendants or guards would quell it. So he carried on. “I doubt he’s someone new, you should have seen him work. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was incredible, like watching an artist completing a masterpiece. He made that centerpiece. Isn’t it the most unbelievable thing you’ve ever seen?”

Chris chuckled as Victor gushed. “The crown prince of the Nikiforov kingdom, infatuated with a mystery pastry chef he’s only just met. This is exactly the kind of scandalous love story my life has been missing… So, what’s he look like? What exactly is Prince Victor’s type?”

“…Sweet.”

“Well, he does make pastries,” Chris reminded.

“Adorably disheveled. Covered in flour. But with the fiercest spark in the warmest brown eyes that I’ve ever seen.” Victor suddenly found himself feeling even more dissatisfied with the fact that he had not managed to find the young man. Perhaps he should go back to the kitchens, perhaps the bakers had not left yet. At the very least he would be able to ask one of them who the mystery boy was…

“Black hair and a bit of softness in his cheeks?” Chris asked.

Victor’s attention snapped to his friend. “How did you know?!”

Chris pointed to the crowd of banquet guests, which had momentarily parted, laughing and clapping in encouragement and delight as someone stumbled out from their midst. Said someone made a determined declaration to the onlookers, words just a little slurred but undeniably excited. Victor did not hear anything apart from the mention of a _swan_ , his heart pounding loud in his ears. 

The young man backed up, until he was half a step away, unaware that there were two princes directly behind him. Victor barely had a chance to brace himself for when the man spun around a bit too quickly for his tipsy state, toes of one foot catching on the heel of the other, tripping himself.

He fell straight into Victor’s arms.

At his side, Victor could make out Chris’s laughter. “Does he look anything like that?”

Unfocused, gorgeous brown eyes blinked up at Victor and champagne-glossed lips stretched into the most magnificent smile. Victor forgot how to breathe.

“Exactly like that.”

~~~~~~~

Yuuri drank exactly the right amount of champagne to calm his nerves enough so that he could finish glazing the éclairs. Then another glass in a congratulatory toast from the palace kitchen attendants for hard work well done. Then one more because it actually tasted pretty good, and he had not noticed that before. Then another with Mila, on his request and not hers. Then perhaps a couple more, under the logic that they had opened another bottle and it would be a shame to let it go flat.

He had been humming a happy tune as he cleaned the countertops when someone fuzzy approached him and asked what would be the best method to carve the swan in order to serve the pastry to the guests. Yuuri had gasped in horror, then giggled, then volunteered to go and demonstrate to the fuzzy person the way to do it because could fuzzy people even carve anything, and besides, that was his swan and if anyone was going to carve it and destroy it then he wanted to be the one to do it! 

The person was not the only thing fuzzy as Yuuri found himself in the ballroom. Right, he had set his glasses down somewhere earlier. That’s why everything was fuzzy. And maybe a little bit because of the champagne as well. Oh, and there was more of it. And the champagne in the ballroom was even better than the champagne in the kitchen. It was fantastic! And the music was wonderful too! Someone beside him agreed with enthusiasm. 

Yuuri had not even realized he had voiced his thoughts out loud, but it was so nice of that person to agree with him. Yuuri grabbed his new friend and another glass, calling for a toast because _wow palace parties were amazing_! More someones agreed with him and they clinked the flutes together, not at all seeming to mind when some of the champagne splashed over the rim. 

The alcohol did not burn at the slightest as Yuuri downed it, the flavors of fruits and honey and bubbles making him buzz. He was dancing with someone, giggling as they said something about kings and consonant letters, and then Yuuri told a joke that he could not remember the second after he finished it but everyone was laughing. Then Yuuri was dancing again, with someone tiny and blonde and kinda feisty, then with two someones, both with such amazing purple eyes, _wow, you two could be twins you’re both so great._ Then yet someone else walked by with a tray full of oreshki and _did you know it’s really easy to juggle these, here, I can do it, oh and you can try to catch them in your mouth, yeah let’s try it, ohmygod that’s amazing, how did we even manage to do that_ — and then someone mentioned the swan, _the swan! Oh wait, let me show you the swan, it’s fantastic, it’s ridiculous, you’ll all love it, did you see it already? I made that, no really, yes we can eat it, do you want to, yes, okay, let’s go get it,_ and— 

Yuuri was in someone’s arms. Strong arms. Nice arms. Very nice arms. Yuuri gripped at biceps, letting his weight fall on the man holding him, and then he gazed up through heavy eyelashes, straight into eyes that were unbelievably blue, like the sky after a summer rain.

“Are you okay?” There was concern in the voice addressing Yuuri, why was there concern in his voice, that wasn’t right. Yuuri wanted to hear him happy, not concerned.

“I’ve never been better!” Yuuri chimed and smiled brilliantly. It was really, really, _really_ hard to tear himself away from looking at that strikingly handsome face, even if it was a bit fuzzy. His skin looked so smooth, so pale, like it would be the softest thing in the world if Yuuri touched it. Yuuri really wanted to touch it. Or lick it. Or bite it. Yeah, all of those things sounded really good right now. 

His gaze reached the top of the very handsome man’s face and saw a glistening golden crown sitting on top of shining silver hair. Oh, that hair looked really soft too. But Yuuri didn’t think biting on it would be any fun for either of them. Maybe he could pull it instead. Yuuri let go of one of the biceps and reached up, touching fingertips to the other’s cheek and wait—a crown? But a crown meant… Yuuri squinted and the fuzzy face came more into focus… Oh. _Oh. Ohhhhhhhh._

“Are you sure? Because you’re…”

Yuuri frowned when the prince trailed off. It looked like he was thinking. Hard. But this was a party! Parties were not for thinking. “I’m… what?” Yuuri asked, and then laughed at his own question because he realized he could answer it himself and then maybe the prince would not have to think as hard. “I’m Yuuri!” Yep, that was the right answer. It had to be. Because the prince was smiling. Yuuri really liked the prince’s smile. He should tell him that. _Prince Victor I really like your smile._ Yes, that sounded good in his head. Now how about out loud— 

“I think you’re a little confused.” The prince was looking at him in an interesting way, like he was amused. It was a better look than thinking hard. “You’re not Yuri. But, I think you might have just been dancing with Yuri—oh.”

Yuuri nuzzled his face into the prince’s chest. Because the prince smelled nice. Like a combination of juniper berries and lavender. His chest was firm. And warm. And firm. He must work out. Do princes work out? Maybe they were just born with a set of abs and a great chest. Royal privilege. “I am though. But you’re not saying it right. It’s Yuuri.” Regrettably, he had to tilt his face up to make sure the prince understood him correctly. Because he really just wanted to keep nuzzling into his chest. 

Although something told him he should probably let go of the prince. Except he was more leaning against him than hanging on. The prince was hanging on. His arms were around Yuuri. His very nice, strong arms. Yuuri felt like he should return the favor, so he wrapped his own arms around the prince’s shoulders and tipped up on his toes. What had he been saying? Oh yeah, his name. The prince wanted to know his name. “Yuuuuuuri,” he purred against the prince’s ear, making sure that the prince knew to stretch it out. He noticed that the tip of that ear turned pink. Maybe he could bite that too…

“Yuuri.” The prince repeated, making his name sound really nice and Yuuri hummed with approval. 

“Yes?”

“…Would you like to let go of me or…?”

What a stupid question. Of course Yuuri would not _like_ to let go. It was probably a good idea, but that did not mean he had to _like_ it. “Or!” he declared his response. 

The prince laughed lightly and the sound bubbled its way into the center of Yuuri’s chest. It was even sweeter than the music still filling the ballroom. “Or…?”

Yuuri had made the prince smile. And laugh. And he wanted more of both. Pulling himself away, Yuuri took a surprisingly steady step backwards and straightened his posture. With one smooth motion, Yuuri brushed his hair back, out of his face, and then held out his hand in offer to the gorgeous, blinking prince before him. “Your highness, will you dance with me?”

The prince did not hesitate to take his hand.

~~~~~~~

Yuuri was a whirlwind.

His fingers laced delicate and fond with Victor’s as he swept them across the ballroom like no one else existed. Victor could barely hear the music, too lost in the brightness of Yuuri’s laughter as he twirled the prince, who felt weightless and alight with the pure joy radiating from both of them. Victor was more than happy to let himself get swept up by the wonder that was Yuuri, following his every step and tug and smile, until he was left nearly gasping for breath but not even considering breaking for air. 

Yuuri’s energy was like the sun itself, burning bright and warm and beckoning, and Victor was not the only one affected. The moment that the breathless prince paused, Yuuri was stolen from him, but the pulse in Victor’s chest hardly lasted as he watched Yuuri dance with Chris, both men driving each other on with almost reckless abandon, drawing the attention of everyone, and Victor could not bring himself to look away from even a fraction of a second. Yuuri danced with everyone that sought out a moment with him, drawn like moths to a brilliant flame that just kept burning. Victor laughed in delight when even Yuri got drawn into it, taking up the challenge to rival someone with his namesake. 

Yuuri might have been fueled by the champagne which continued to flow as freely as he did, but he glowed as if lined with gold in the light of the oil lamps and chandeliers illuminating the room. 

When the dancing stopped, Yuuri did not. He and Chris stacked flutes of champagne to form a crystal fountain, laughing when the poured alcohol splashed everywhere, and then Yuuri carved the swan with an unbelievable amount of grace for someone whose cheeks were so beautifully flushed. The swan’s wings stretched high toward the ceiling as Yuuri drew them up in a fantastic display. It looked as if about to take flight as Yuuri served the light and sweet pastry to the ecstatic guests, who laughed all the more when Yuuri encouraged Victor to sneak up behind JJ and deposit a mount of choux and cream on the top of his head, bestowing the foreign royal with the title of _King of Chantilly._

Victor’s cheeks and ribs were sore from laughter and his heart felt full enough to burst right out of his chest and into his hands, but he would only welcome it, just so he would be able to present Yuuri with it. Especially when the young man threw his arms around Victor and smiled so brilliantly that Victor never wanted to look away. “You should be my prince,” Yuuri asserted, and Victor could feel fingertips playing with strands of his hair at the base of his neck. 

“I am your prince,” Victor answered, his entire body humming with the feel of Yuuri against it.

“No,” Yuuri shook his head, his brows furrowed to express his dissatisfaction in Victor’s response. “No. Not like that. Be _my_ prince, Victor…”

Those bewitching brown eyes robbed Victor of every sense. 

Reaching up, he delicately took Yuuri’s hands and shifted them from around his neck to hold them between their chests, at the same level as his fluttering, swollen heart. “I want nothing more.” He brushed his lips across Yuuri’s knuckles, an action practiced from his role in greeting other royalty, but he hoped that Yuuri knew that this was different. 

Victor released Yuuri’s hands, adoring how he could see him blush even under the pink tint caused by the champagne. He looked away from Yuuri for barely a moment, glancing around the ballroom, still filled with too many people despite the late hour, and then he glimpsed the hall doors which could lead them out toward the gardens, quiet and illuminated only by the moon. Turning back, Victor held out his arms so that he could take the other man into them, ready to pull his beautifully smiling Yuuri out into the halls so they could run down them together until they got outside, where they could dance with no one watching.

Except there was no one before him. Just like a whirlwind, Yuuri was gone. And once again, no amount of searching nor asking nor pleading brought the wonderful boy back into his embrace. Yuuri was gone and no one knew where he was nor where he had come from.

Instead, Victor found himself standing in an emptied ballroom, the guests gone and the silence deafening. 

His eyes settled on the single large silver tray left on the tables. The large bird that had previously stood proudly at the center was in pieces, its head and neck completely missing and its wings torn to shreds. The remnants of cream and choux looked to be less of that a thoroughly enjoyed dessert and more like criminal evidence in a pastry murder story. Every other trace of what had once been a beautiful swan had vanished, like the warm bliss that danced in Victor’s heart and the enchanting young man who had stirred it.

And to think, he hadn’t even left behind a glass slipper…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure how many references to the canon there ended up being... But I tried.


	4. Who Fell in Love

Victor felt destroyed.

He could not sleep a wink, laying in his bed, staring up at the canopy. If he closed his eyes for a single second, visions of a dancing, blushing, laughing Yuuri flooded his mind and refused to leave him. They sunk like a dull icing knife into his chest.

What had he done wrong? Had he said something? Had he answered wrong when Yuuri asked him to become his prince? _His_ prince. Victor was certain he had not misinterpreted the emphasis behind Yuuri’s words. 

Was it because he had let go of Yuuri? It had only been for a moment. He should have held on. He should not have let go of his hands. Not for a single second. He should have held on and never let go. 

Had Yuuri thought that Victor was pushing him away? Was that why he had vanished?

Yuuri had looked so happy, so brilliant, so full of life, radiating with an energy that Victor had never known he needed but now could not imagine being without. His chest felt hollow, stripped of that feeling of wonder and bliss and everything beautiful that was Yuuri.

Should he have done something else? He should have. Done something, said something, anything, so that Yuuri knew…. knew what? Victor wasn’t sure. 

This was ridiculous. He felt ridiculous, so wrapped up and lost to someone he had only just met, but wanted to do absolutely nothing to change that feeling, only grasp for more of it.

He should have kissed Yuuri. That’s what he should have done. He should have kissed Yuuri. Did Yuuri want to be kissed? Would he want to be kissed? Would he like to kiss Victor? What if he wouldn’t? What if Victor was totally wrong? 

_Be my prince, Victor._

What else could he have meant by that though? Victor wanted to be his prince. Yuuri’s prince and no one else’s. That sounded quite nice. Yuuri’s prince.

The back of Victor’s neck tingled, feeling how Yuuri’s breath rolled against his skin when the man purred his own name into Victor’s ear, low and silken. Victor wanted to feel it again, wanted to feel the warmth of Yuuri against him, wanted to hear the addicting ring of his exquisite laugh, wanted to delight in that delicate blush which heated Yuuri’s gorgeous face, wanted to lose himself in those captivating, shining chocolate eyes.

Victor buried his face into a too-plush pillow and groaned. The bed was too big, too soft, too cold. He hated it… Would Yuuri like it? It would be perfect with Yuuri in it. Not too big, as he could share it with the other, lounging comfortably together on a lazy summer morning. Not too soft, with the firmness of Yuuri’s body next to his own, making him feel like nothing else mattered. Not too cold, being able to bask in Yuuri’s heat and sweetness, lying close against each other on a late winter night. 

“Wow, I’m pathetic…” Victor murmured and Makkachin huffed sleepily from the foot of the bed. Would Yuuri like Makkachin? Yuuri would love Makkachin. That wasn’t even a question. Did Yuuri like dogs? Victor had not asked. He had not asked Yuuri anything. He did not know anything about Yuuri. Well, that was not entirely true.

He knew that Yuuri had been nervous when Victor surprised him in the kitchens, but overflowed with confidence when he had invited Victor to dance. He knew that Yuuri had been delicate when he had handled the swan, but then had gripped onto Victor’s hands firmly as he whisked the prince across the ballroom. He knew that Yuuri had been polite when thanking Christophe for dancing with him, but devious in his encouragements when he caught onto the jokes Victor had made about JJ. 

And… was that it?

Victor knew that Yuuri could make magic out of flour and cream. He knew that Yuuri wore glasses when he worked, but not when he danced. He knew that Yuuri did not work in the palace. Someone had managed to confirm that Yuuri worked with the bakers, but said that it was the first time that any of the attendants had seen him as well. Victor wanted to see him again. He needed to see Yuuri again. He could not imagine what it would be like to never see Yuuri again.

By the time the sun rose, Victor was exhausted. But he had a plan. Sort of a plan. Kind of a plan. A weak plan. Hardly a plan at all. But it was enough. It had to be enough. 

No one in the palace had known where to find Yuuri, but Victor knew. Or he knew how he could find out.

Victor was going to go into the capital. And he was not coming back until he found Yuuri.

~~~~~~~

Victor’s plan was not going well.

He had never realized how big Hasetsu was. He knew the capital was big, just not… so big. He had never really walked around it before. Rode through it in a carriage, conducted short royal visits, stood smiling on the raised platform in the city center at appearances, observed a number of annual festivals, but never had the opportunity to see the entirety of it.

Some of the streets were winding and narrow and cobbled. Others were straight and wide and kicked up dust with every step. All were lined with shops that sold all manners of things, like brightly colored tapestries or assortments of candles or little bejeweled music boxes or simple springtime clothes or whole hanging ducks. Victor would have been tempted to explore every single one if it were not for the one goal driving him forward, past every fascinating shop front. 

When Victor left the palace late that morning, he had grabbed the first two attendants he saw to bring with him. It was only after they arrived in the city that it dawned on him that maybe he should have asked them if they knew the capital well because as it turned out, they did not. And that was a problem. Because neither did Victor.

The information Victor had gathered from the kitchen attendants consisted mainly of the fact that the bakery was located somewhere between the center and the outskirts of the city. He assumed that that piece of information would have been enough. He assumed wrong.

Victor had not considered the idea that there may be more than one bakery in the capital. His thinking had been something along the lines of:

a. Find the bakery  
b. Grasp Yuuri’s hands in his own  
c. Gaze lovingly into those brown eyes  
d. Ask Yuuri if he would return to the palace together with Victor  
e. Live Happily Ever After™ 

Instead, the utterly shocked reactions which followed Victor out of the _third_ bakery he had found weighed heavily on his shoulders. 

However many hours of trekking unsuccessfully around the city later, the sun was sinking, and Victor’s resolve began to crumble. 

His feet were sore, muscles in his calves complaining, and the exhaustion from not having slept the night before put an unpleasant pressure behind his temple. The prince pushed on, frustrated and trying not to scowl, pausing when a wrong turn down some street returned him to the plaza in the city center.

A glance at the attendants trailing close behind showed him worn-down faces. Maybe he should reevaluate his plan. Because it was not working. 

According to the plan, he should have had Yuuri in his arms already and they should be riding into the sunset together. Instead, he was nowhere closer to finding Yuuri than he had been that morning.

There were plenty of people milling around, although the majority of them seemed to purposefully be avoiding Victor. Eyes that had been trained on him swiftly flickered away the moment he noticed, and passersby hugged the edges of the plaza as they made their way around rather than cut through the center where Victor stood. _Interesting._

Victor scanned the square again, some tiny part inside of him hoping that by some miracle his Yuuri might happen to come by, but of course, no such luck. However, if Yuuri did live in the capital, then he would have to pass through the center at some point, wouldn’t he? If Victor stayed there, then he may be able to find Yuuri, even if it was through pure luck. It did not matter how long Victor had to wait, he would stay there until the buildings withered away if he had to, because all that mattered was— 

“My prince, if I may…”

Victor paused in thinking about how to most comfortably spend eternity waiting for Yuuri in the plaza when one of his exhausted attendants addressed him.

“If you still remain steadfast in your search for this bakery perhaps we could ask one of the citizens? They ought to know the city better.”

Ah, there was an idea. Probably better than waiting until the buildings withered.

Victor cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and then walked up to the nearest person, tapping them lightly on the shoulder. A boy with blonde hair streaked with red turned around. Victor smiled at him. The boy squeaked in terror and bolted.

Well then.

The crown prince approaching a citizen on the street all of the sudden might have that effect. Similar to the effect he had had on Yuuri in the kitchens. Victor really needed to stop surprising people.

The next few citizens that Victor approached weren’t any more helpful. Less terrified fleeing, but still just as much surprise in their expressions. A lot more shaking heads than he expected though. 

Maybe there was something wrong with his explanation. _A bakery that makes the most amazing pastries and also might employ the most beautiful man in the world._ It earned him a lot more odd looks followed by respectful apologies than it did tidbits of useful information.

With each _“I beg your pardon, your highness, I’m not sure, did you try the one down that street?”_ Victor’s heart dropped a little lower into the pits of his stomach. Yes, he _had_ tried the one down that street. It was _not_ the bakery with the most amazing pastries and certainly _not_ the one that might employ the most beautiful man in the world.

How did this entire city not know who Yuuri was? How was it that all of Hasetsu—no, all of the kingdom— was not singing his praises?

Some miniscule voice at the back of his head pointed out that Victor himself had started singing those very praises only yesterday, but he quickly locked that voice away and threw away the key. No place for negativity. 

Victor asked and asked and asked and got the feeling that some people were not being entirely honest with him when they apologized. He hardly had the energy to contain the irritation building inside him, much less press on into questions that were getting him nowhere.

With each rejection his resolve broke down a little more, because how was it possible for no one to know where he could find the young man with charmingly messy hair and sparkling eyes and the sweetest smile, who could make miracles out of choux and chantilly, and could sweep a crown prince completely off his feet in a single night, who most likely worked in a bakery that was run by a very pleasant middle-aged couple that—

“Are you talking about Yuuri?”

Victor froze. He had heard the voice, but was not sure where it came from. Certainly not from the young woman in front of him, because her lips were pursed together tightly and her eyes held as much surprise and shock as his own did. However, there was no one else near them, and it had not been a voice belonging to either of his attendants.

There was a tug on Victor’s pant leg and he looked down. Three pairs of eyes looked back at him. 

“Yuuri makes sweets! Amazing sweets!” The triplet in the middle stated firmly, and her two sisters nodded in affirmation.

Victor instantly dropped down to their level, resting his elbows on his knees as he squatted, ignoring the protests of the attendants about the fact that he was going to dirty his robes. “Yes, Yuuri! That’s him. Where can I find him?”

“He’s usually at the bakery,” one of the other girls replied. 

“It’s not far from here,” added the third.

“Mom can show you!”

Victor straightened and noticed the hesitant expression on their mother’s face. Their eyes met briefly and then the young woman bowed deeply. “Your highness, whatever Yuuri did, please find it in your heart to forgive him! He’s a really good person and he admires you very much, so I’m sure it was just an accident!”

Victor stared.

Oh. _Oh. Ohhhhh._

Right. The crown prince descending upon the capital without a formal announcement or warning and catching random citizens and demanding they tell him where he could find someone with only a vague explanation of why probably seemed… not good. No wonder most people had stammered and rapidly shuffled away. 

“No, no, no, he didn’t— he didn’t do anything wrong! He’s not in trouble, I promise you, I want to find him because…” How could he explain this in a simple way, “…he made something incredible for me at the palace banquet yesterday and I wanted to thank him in person, but he left before I had the chance.” 

Her expression softened. “Oh.” She glanced down at her three daughters, who grinned back proudly. “Well, I could show you? If that’s true, I’m sure Yuuri would love to hear it… I can take you there, your highness.”

“If you just tell me how to get there, that would be fine,” Victor answered. “You have your girls with you, I don’t want to impose.”

She seemed surprised, but did not question his words, and removed some parchment from her bag, sketching a quick map of streets leading from the plaza while reciting directions and a description of the shop front. 

Victor thanked her profusely, relief flooding through him. The young woman bowed her head again and shuffled her daughters down to the far end of the square. Victor noticed the eyes of the triplets kept darting back to him until the family disappeared. 

Victor almost hugged one of his attendants in glee. 

He did it! He had found it. He was going to find Yuuri. And that woman said that Yuuri admired him? How splendid. Because he very much admired Yuuri in return. His Yuuri. He was going to get to see his Yuuri! What a wonderful life it was! 

If it had been considered appropriate for a prince, Victor would have skipped. Instead he turned and adjusted his robes before calling for his attendants to follow as he set off in the direction of the bakery.

~~~~~~~

“I think you should put down the danish.”

“No.”

“Then put down the croissant.”

Yuuri glanced down, noticing that he had a pastry in each hand. The croissant, left over from the previous day’s batch, was already half gone. And he had been about to take a bite out of the cherry danish, but Mila’s judging eyes made him reconsider. It had not completely registered until that moment that he had two sweet breads in front of him, and another on a plate to his right. Much less that he was eating them. But there was a lingering sweetness on his tongue. 

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri winced at her loud exclamation, and set the danish aside. “Okay, okay! Just… keep your voice down.”

It was past midday and his head had stopped pounding only half an hour prior. Now the pain was down to a dull, continuous but tolerable throbbing concentrated in his temple. However, every loud noise and sudden movement sent spikes hammering through it again. 

Yuuri sat behind the counter in the shop front, glad that the majority of their customers tended to come by during the first half of the day, with the second wave arriving in the evenings right before they closed, leaving him with some relative and much-needed quiet for now. 

According to Mila, he had polished off _at least_ an entire bottle of champagne. He remembered that much. The few glasses to kill his nervousness after nearly dropping the swan and snapping at the prince. Yuuri’s headache pulsed again. The prince. He had finally met the prince. Even with his memories hazy, that heart-like smile still shone vividly in his hangover-dulled mind. 

The base of Yuuri’s spine began tingling and he took in a deep breath, slowly. No. No use in panicking now. It was fine. Everything was fine. He had made it back home without being tossed out by palace guards. There was no problem. No one had come banging on doors and demanding to know where he was or calling for Yuuri to return to the palace to face the consequences of his actions. In fact, he should probably be grateful.

How many times had he envisioned meeting the prince over the years? How many dreams and daydreams had he had? 

One of meeting the prince at the summer festival, where the children raced kites, and the prince would laugh as Yuuri helped to untangle his foot from strings that the Nishigori triplets would have wrapped him in. 

Another of running into the prince while they were both visiting a neighboring kingdom, a happen-chance of a meeting outside a coffee roastery that Yuuri visited twice a year to purchase beans as ingredients for a few pastry recipes. Yuuri’s arms would be overloaded with the heavy burlap sacks of unground coffee, and the prince would offer him a hand, because he was kind like that.

His favorite had been of the prince somehow, one afternoon, showing up at the bakery, requesting to know who it was that made the _delicious_ desserts that always graced the palace, because whoever it was, he could no longer to stand a day without meeting. And Yuuri would be standing there, behind the shop counter, holding a tray of whatever it was the prince liked most (Although, he imagined, the thing that the prince would actually like most would be Yuuri). And Yuuri would blush and say, _“ummm, that’s me?”_ in a shy and uncertain way that the prince would find utterly adorable. And then the prince would whisk him away into a fairytale life of bliss and perfection… 

Yes, Yuuri knew it was ridiculous. Impossible. He should be ashamed that his subconscious mind fathomed such clichéd scenarios to mock him with, yet he clung to it nonetheless. He was allowed a dream or two. Or twenty. However, perhaps reality was better. 

Now he could finally stop clinging to those silly dreams and move on to something that was actually obtainable. He could never go back to those imagined scenes when they would now be shattered with the reality of how he had actually met the prince: by nearly breaking his feet with a heavy silver tray and a ridiculous choux swan. Who had even wanted that stupid thing?! If Yuuri had not been so stubborn about making it, none of that embarrassing scenario would have happened… No, he would have probably just dropped something else on the prince instead. 

Yuuri remembered Mila shoving that first glass of champagne into his hands the day before. She had not been as helpful as usual when trying to talk him down, as he had waited for the alcohol to take effect. _Meet cute,_ she had called it. _Come on, don’t worry, you’ll be fine, no one else in the kingdom can say their first meeting with the prince was so spectacularly… unique._

Well, maybe she had been right after all. Yuuri was fine. No guards had carried him off and the prince had never come back to the kitchens, so Yuuri told himself there was no reason to worry. No reason. None at all. Not even now. Even if he had drank way too much. 

He had woken up in the morning in his own bed. His clothes worse for wear and his head feeling ready to split open, but otherwise… fine. No reason to be concerned. No need to worry. No need to panic. No need for stressing eating. Right?

And the prince had been nice enough. Despite everything. If Yuuri did ever have to return to the palace, at one point, hopefully in the far future, if at all, maybe he would not have to be as nervous. Meeting the prince was out of the way, as disastrous as it had been, but at last he was free of that terrifying anticipation and would no longer have to put up with Mila’s constant pushing for him to go. 

Yes, this was better. Much better. So much better. Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he might start to believe it.

“You’re sure everything went well?” Yuuri murmured, taking a sip of the peppermint and centaury leaf blend tea at his side. His mother’s recipe. It was supposed to work well on idiots who drank too much.

“You really don’t remember much?”

“Most of it, I think.” Yuuri closed his eyes. “Probably better if I remembered less though. It’d be less humiliating that way.” Yuuri tore off another piece of the croissant, the buttery flakes melting on his tongue. Mila’s handiwork. Maybe she was helpless when it came to glazing éclairs, but her croissants were second to none. 

Mila was chewing on her lower lip as she watched Yuuri. A lot. It was not like her. 

Yuuri stopped with his hand midway to his mouth, about to take in another portion of the croissant. “…What are you not telling me?”

“No, it’s nothing!” She piped up and threw him her best smile. Her _I’m-trying-to-get-away-with-something_ smile. Yuuri’s eyes narrowed. 

“Mila…”

“Really, it’s nothing! Don’t worry, Yuuri!”

Her tone was up a pitch and the sound grated on his still-diminishing headache, so he let it go. Normally, he would press on, but he did not want to send his head back towards its morning levels of pain. Instead, he finished the croissant and then licked the buttery residue off his fingers. At least his stomach was not as nauseous as it normally was after a rare night of drinking. 

Yuuri sighed and glanced around their little bakery. The breads and pastries which sat behind the counter were a million years away from the types of confections they had created for the banquet. Yuuri liked the simplicity of the everyday black ryes and sourdoughs and melon pan that they normally sold, where the most technical bake was a kouign-amann and not much beyond that. 

Yet, the kitchens in the palace the day before had given Yuuri the tingle of inspiration to create something far greater than a swan. 

Yuuri had spent years building up his skills, first through his parents and then on his own. He had poured over recipe books, sometimes lucky enough to secure ones from neighboring kingdoms off a traveling merchant that Yuuri always overpaid. 

He spent evenings and early mornings trying out his own variations and experimenting with ingredients, sometimes to produce inedible blocks and sometimes something wonderful that would send faces alight. How much more freedom and opportunity could he have if he could change the confines of his family’s small bakery for the expanse of those splendid palace kitchens. 

Not that he wasn’t happy there, but he did occasionally wonder what it might be like to experience a slightly different life…

The front door of the shop slammed open, the bell at the top of the frame clanging loudly, tearing Yuuri from his thoughts. He jumped once in reaction, then again when it banged shut. Neither the noise nor his movements reacted well with his head, which unkindly reminded him of how much he had drank. 

Yuuri made eye contact with his older sister. 

Mari, breathing heavily as if she had just run a marathon, looked at him in an odd way. Then she ran across the front of the shop, yanking open the window curtains which Yuuri had earlier pulled closed enough so that the afternoon sun would not hit the counter that he sat at.

White bursts seared behind his eyes as the light assaulted his face and Yuuri jerked away from it. 

“Close the curtains!” Both Yuuri and Mila exclaimed at the same time.

However, Mari was not listening. She stood still as death, peering out. Then, without warning, she wrenched the lace curtains shut and rounded on Yuuri. Her hair, which was normally pulled back into a neat bun, was rogue, escaping the confines of its ties and the bandana she wore. Her eyes, the same shade of brown as her brother’s, were wide. “Yuuri…”

“Nice to see you too, sis?” Yuuri tried to respond lightly, despite his hangover hitting him full force again. 

Mari had been out of town for the past week, visiting a friend of the family’s who lived in a neighboring city. Yuuri could see the hard lines set across her face which communicated _something_. Usually, his sister was rather... neutral. She had none of her brother’s share of nerves, taking life with a _come what may_ kind of attitude while Yuuri tried to take it in a _not every bad day is doomsday_ kind of way. Except, at that moment, Mari was channeling a lot less Mari and a lot more Yuuri. “Yuuri, don’t joke with me. Did you go to the palace yesterday?”

The sunlight spilling through the threading in the lace curtains was still painful. On most days, Yuuri liked sunlight. Today it was his mortal enemy. It was making it hard to process Mari’s words. “Yeah? Mom and Dad couldn’t go, so Mila and I went.”

“Okay… What did you do there?”

Yuuri did not like that question. Did not like how it carried behind it a million different implications and none of those were going to be preceded with the words _good news, everyone!_

“Uhhh… delivered their order? For the annual banquet between the kingdoms? Made some pastries in their kitchens? And left?” _And met the prince in a disastrously splendid manner and got wasted after as a result._ Somehow, he thought that was the answer she was after. But it would be best not to say that out loud, right? Because maybe she would hear the edited version and whatever it was that was making her look like panic personified would waltz right out of the bakery… Although, waltz did not seem to be the right term, for some reason. 

“Are you hungover?”

“Umm… maybe a little?”

“Yuuri!”

Her voice punched at his skull, making him whimper. “Yes, okay? I am. I got shaken up before we finished working so I drank a little to calm my nerves and I guess I went a bit overboard?”

“Mari…” The way Mila spoke was quiet. Hesitant. Shaking. Yuuri’s stomach suddenly felt unsettled hearing it. “What’s going on?”

“I just came in from the town center,” Mari replied, approaching the counter, her gaze not shifting off her brother. “Guess who is there? No really, guess.”

“…Someone important enough for you to ask?”

“Prince Victor.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. Mari continued on.

“And guess what he’s doing? Come on, guess.”

“…Something… princely?”

“He’s stopping anyone and everyone that walks by, asking them if they know a _Yuuri_ who might work with the _Katsuki_ bakers, and if they know where he might be able to find such a _bakery_ with one such _Yuuri_.”

Yuuri blinked. Mila blinked. Mari stared. Yuuri said nothing.

“Yuuri, why is the crown prince looking for you?!”

“I-… I don’t know?” Yuuri choked out. The prince was looking for him? By name? In town? The prince himself had come into the capital to look for _him?_ And how did the prince know his name? Yuuri had not told him. The kitchen attendants knew. They all knew. Any one of them could have told the prince. 

But it had been fine. It had! Why had the prince let Yuuri go last night, evidently free, only to come out personally looking for him now? Had it finally sunk in what Yuuri had done? The shock of being grabbed and yelled at by a commoner had finally worn off and the prince wanted to make sure that he had the right person?

“Did he say why he’s looking for Yuuri?” Mila asked. Her hands were balled into fists at the front of her apron.

“No, he didn’t,” Mari responded. “And excuse me, but I did not stop to ask a pissed-off-looking prince, _‘Hi, pardon, your excellency, but can I inquire as to why you are looking for my brother?’_ So, Yuuri, I am going to ask you again… What did you do?!”

“I…” Yuuri paused, released a long, slow breath, and launched into his explanation. “They asked if we could make a swan out of choux, so I did. But after I finished it, I turned around and he was standing right behind me and I was so shocked that I dropped the swan. But he caught it before it hit the ground. It was a little messed up and he tried to touch it after that, and so I panicked and grabbed him and told him not to and that I could fix it if he stayed out of the way… But he wasn’t angry then, I swear! And he left and he didn’t come back and no one came for me after that so… I thought it was fine. It wasn’t that— it wasn’t that bad, really, so I don’t know why he’s looking for me now.”

“…I might know why,” Mila offered softly.

Both Mari and Yuuri spun to face her. 

“Wh-… what do you mean?” Yuuri’s voice quivered. “Mila, you said nothing happened after that!”

“I… lied?” The redhead took a short step back, away from the siblings. 

“Mila, what happened?!”

“Okay, but… I didn’t want you to freak out, Yuuri. Like, because I thought, maybe it wasn’t that bad and…”

Yuuri’s headache had faded, replaced by encompassing dread. He could feel every nerve-ending starting to prickle. “Mila… what did I do?”

“We didn’t come straight home. We were cleaning up after the banquet started, waiting to hear if there was anything that might have been off with the desserts we made, but all the feedback was really positive and then you… you disappeared for a while. I looked around for you, but I couldn’t find you. You drank a _lot_ , Yuuri. So I waited in the kitchens and then one of the attendants mentioned that they had seen you out in the ballroom.” Mila hesitated, looking like there was a lot more information that she was leaving out.

“What was I doing in the ballroom?” Yuuri asked cautiously.

“I think you went out to carve the swan, but… apparently, you tried to dance with some of the royal guests, and when I found you, you were… ummm…”

“I was _what_ , Mila?”

She chewed on her lower lip, her eyes darting between Yuuri and Mari, who were both looking at her in a terrified sort of expectation. “You jumped on the prince. Had your arms around him. And I didn’t hear what you said, but he pushed you off and I think he was looking around for some guards, Yuuri, so I… I just grabbed you and ran. I’m sorry, but like… you were _wasted_.”

Yuuri understood her words individually, understood the meaning of each one, but strung together in sentences, they did not make any sense. Could not make sense. Because that could not have happened. He had gotten so drunk that he had thrown himself at the prince? Literally?

“Did… did I say anything?” Yuuri was not sure if he wanted to know the answer. But if the prince was coming for him then he should be prepared. He could start figuring out some sort of apology, some sort of explanation. Drunk beyond memory was a decent explanation, right? The prince might understand? 

Mila shook her head. “You were rambling and not making a lot of sense. All you kept saying was telling me to take you back to him because you weren’t done dancing with him. You passed out as soon as I got you into the carriage, Yuuri. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you and scare you because I thought maybe… maybe there was a chance the prince was also drunk and he wouldn’t remember either?”

“Was the prince drunk too?” Mari inquired, arms crossed over her chest.

“No, he looked pretty sober,” Mila muttered to Yuuri’s horror. “Yuuri, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were going to drink _that_ much, or I never would have given you that champagne.”

Yuuri snatched the danish up from the plate and bit off half of it. It tasted like ash on his tongue, like his entire world going up in flames. 

“Maybe he won’t find us?” Mila tried. She did not try to stop Yuuri from shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth, his brown eyes wide with panic.

“Of course he’s going to find us, how many people in town know who we are? You’re lucky people like you, Yuuri, because maybe some wouldn’t say anything, but it looked like he was getting directions from the Nishgoris when I bolted.” Mari paused and exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. “Okay, we are just going to have to lie our asses off until we can figure out what to do. Where are Mom and Dad?”

“At Doctor Minako’s,” Yuuri managed a muffled response.

“Your mother hurt her ankle yesterday, that’s why Yuuri went instead,” Mila explained, her eyes shifting to the front door of the bakery. “We could pretend the shop is closed?”

“Like he won’t leave guards here to wait,” Mila shook her head. “We can say that Yuur— oh fuck, that’s him.”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped to the window. Through the lace curtains, he glimpsed a flash of silver hair. His heart leapt and plunged all at the same time. 

Mari seized him by the shoulders and shoved him into Mila’s arms. “Get out! Hide!”

Yuuri could barely move on his own, too in shock, so he was grateful when Mila quickly pulled him into the kitchen connected to the shop front and slid the door closed the majority of the way, leaving a crack so they could listen. 

Yuuri leaned his back against the doorframe, eyes closed, elevated pulse pounding in his ears. Mila’s fingers were wrapped around one of his hands in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring but was painful instead. 

Through the door, Yuuri heard Mari’s voice, unbelievably steady as she spoke. “Your highness, what a pleasant surprise. How can I help you today?”

“I want Yuuri.”

That was the prince’s voice. Yuuri’s knees nearly buckled. It sounded too gentle and pleasant to be real. Shouldn’t it be angry? Why wasn’t it angry?

“Hmmm, I’m sorry, your highness, I don’t think we make anything called a Yuuri. Did you try the bread shop on the other side of town? The one by the fountains?”

Beside him, Yuuri could hear Mila bite back a chuckle. 

“Any other day, I might have laughed at that. Please, I know that he works here. Is he here?”

“No, he’s not here.”

“Do you know where I can find him then?”

“No, I don’t.”

Mila’s hands squeezed Yuuri’s tighter with each lie that they listened to Mari tell, her voice strong and unfaltering.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“He left town. This morning. I don’t know when he’ll return.”

“And you don’t know where he went?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can you at least tell me where he lives?”

“Look, your highness, I don’t know what you want with Yuuri, but all I can tell you is tha—”

“I just want to see him again.”

There was a sigh. A heavy one. And it did not come from Mari. The prince sounded… disappointed? Broken? It made no sense. Because the gentleness that laced each of his questions was far from what Yuuri had been expecting. The prince sounded like he was pleading. And Yuuri was not sure what it meant.

“Your highness…” The strength in Mari’s voice was gone, overtaken by uncertainty. 

“Whenever he returns, could you please ask him to come to the palace? He hasn’t done anything wrong, it’s quite the opposite. Meeting him yesterday was… I can’t describe it. I haven’t stopped thinking about him for a single second and I know that might sound absurd, but all I know is that I have to see him again.”

“Yuuri?”

“Yes, Yuuri.”

There was a long pause, and Yuuri knew what it was for, but he couldn’t. He remained motionless, unable to process the meaning of what he was hearing and unable to do anything about it.

Then Mari spoke again. “Okay… I’ll let him know when he returns.”

“I beg of you. Convince him to come. I want to see him and thank him for everything that he is. He-… He stole my heart.”

Dead silence, then footsteps and the gentle chime of the bell on the door as it opened and closed.

Yuuri’s headache had vanished, replaced by the beating of his heart in his chest and his head and his every pulse point. Victor’s words, tender and muted by the mostly closed door separating the shop front from the kitchen, echoed in his ears. 

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

The prince had come for Yuuri, _for Yuuri,_ and not because he was angry and seeking him to bestow some kind of criminal sentence for whatever it was that Yuuri had done the previous night. The prince had come for Yuuri because he wanted to see him? Had to see him? Because Yuuri had _stolen his heart?_

Was that a metaphor? Some kind of royal idiom which Yuuri misunderstood? Because it could not possibly mean what Yuuri thought it did.

This was a dream. It had to be. 

The door to the kitchen slid open and Yuuri realized that Mila had let go of his hand. Both she and Mari were looking at him with the same bewilderment that coursed through him.

“Yuuri… exactly what did you do last night?”

It was a good question.

If only he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So on Sunday, I needed to do two things... One was grade MBA case studies. The second was finish this chapter. Guess which one got done first.
> 
> Also, I got a tumblr because apparently that's what all the cool kids have now.  
> If you have any questions or just wanna drop a line, you can find me [over here](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com)


	5. Hopelessly Head Over Heels

The sun rose and set.

Days passed. Flowers wilted.

The weather changed and time crawled.

Weeks. Months. Seasons. Decades. Eons. 

Stars died. The world stopped spinning. Victor waited, swearing that his hair was now more grey than silver.

Yuuri did not come. Why didn’t he come?

“Why doesn’t he come?”

It felt like an eternity had gone by, each ticking second stretched impossibly long. 

“Jesus fuck, Victor, you’re acting like you’ve been waiting for years.”

“I have. It’s been an eternity,” Victor complained, kicking at the grass beneath his feet. Would he have to wait and watch it die too, like the pieces of his soul?

“No, the banquet was _three_ nights ago. Stop being such a drama queen,” Yuri snapped and notched an arrow into the bow he held. “I’m sick of hearing you sigh all the place.”

Victor’s bow hung loosely from his fingers, not interested in the sport despite having originally agreed with Yuri that he needed to do _something_ other than wallow in the fact that so long had passed and there was still no Yuuri at his doorstep. “But why is he taking this much time?”

“You said he left town?”

Solemnly, Victor nodded and watched Yuri fire the arrow into the targets set far across the courtyard. The blonde clicked his tongue when it struck mid-left of the center. 

“Your footing is still off,” Victor murmured without much care, tapping at one of Yuri’s ankles with the end of his bow. “And yes, that’s what I was told.”

“Well then, there you go.” Yuri adjusted his stance. “He can’t very well come here if he’s in another city. So stop freaking out. It’s getting weird.”

“But what if he never comes?”

“Good, there’s only room for one Yuri in this palace,” the blonde answered and shot off another arrow. He hit nearer to the center, but the way one corner of his mouth twitched downward indicated his maintained dissatisfaction. The younger prince then glanced at Victor and groaned when he saw the heartbreak pooling in Victor’s eyes. “Just get him to make you another stupid swan at the next banquet. He’ll have to show up then. Or send out official summons.”

“I don’t want him to _have_ to come, I want him to _want_ to come,” Victor stated, playing with the fletching feathers. “Do you understand?”

“I don’t think I want to understand,” Yuri muttered under his breath. “Why are you talking to me? Talk to Georgi.”

“Georgi wasn’t helping. And Yura, I don’t think I can survive until the next banquet like this. I need to be with him. This feeling is…” Victor held his hands to his chest, wanting to believe that his heart fluttered inside it at the mere thought of seeing Yuuri again. Maybe Yuri was right and it had only been three days but that need intensified with each dawn. Now Victor thought he understood what Georgi talked about when he cooed about romance. If Victor was forced to wait until the next banquet, his chest might explode from longing. “He was so…”

“Drunk?” Yuri suggested.

“Alive,” Victor concluded, ignoring his brother completely. “He made me feel alive. So ridiculously alive.”

“Ridiculous is right.”

“Do you think he felt the same?”

Yuri paused, lowered the bow in his hands and turned toward Victor, his eyebrows arched high. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What if—what if he doesn’t like…” Victor trailed off, pulling his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth. “What if you’re right and it was just the champagne and he doesn’t actually like…you know…”

“Men?”

“Princes.” Victor waved his hands over his head as if it were supposed to mean something.

Yuri buried his face in a palm, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t do this. I can’t. This is-… I don’t know what this is. You’re worse than Georgi. Fuck, Victor, you’re worse than _Georgi_! Are you even listening to yourself?!”

“Do you think I should go to the bakery again?”

“I think you should get lost on your way to the bakery,” Yuri replied bitterly. “Can you just shoot something already? Why’d we come out here if you’re just going to stand here and throw yourself a pity party?”

“I’m not throwing a pity party,” Victor protested, but changed his positioning. He slotted at arrow into the center of his bow, lifting it without paying much attention. The pullback was half-hearted, done as Victor muttered a musing, “I would rather throw a party for Yuuri,” and he let the bowstring slip from his fingertips. 

It snapped, firing the arrow straight and clean, and Victor spun to face his brother. “Yuri!”

The younger prince gaped at the perfectly bulls-eyed target and then met Victor’s suddenly-widened eyes.

“Yuri, I know what to do!”

“No… no, no, no, Victor, no, don’t be ridiculous,” Yuri attempted to reign in the excitement he saw leaping from Victor. “We just had a banquet!”

“It won’t be a banquet!” Victor reassured, grin spreading wide across his face. “It’ll be a party! A ball!”

Yuri did not bother listening to anymore, twirling around and stalking off across the courtyard. He tossed his quiver and bow to a nearby attendant, afraid he might shoot Victor with it if he held on.

“Yuraaa, wait, come on, it’s perfect!” Victor chased after his brother, bouncing with each step. “I’ll hold a ball and I’ll invite him! What do you think?”

Yuri did not wait. “That’s stupid!”

Victor shot a glare over at his younger brother, mostly for effect, feeling too giddy at his own brilliant idea. “You think everything is stupid.”

“This is extra stupid! Beyond stupid. Like trying to put a sweater on a tree!” the blonde spat in response, halting his words only to search for the proper adjective to describe exactly how strongly he felt about the situation he was being forced to endure. “Like… super stupid.”

“Should have quit while you were ahead,” Victor remarked and Yuri scowled in response, opening his mouth to fire back an insult, only to close it again. He needed to be smart about this, knowing logic had limited effect when Victor got like this, when he found something he really wanted. 

Yuri stopped at the edge of the courtyard and wheeled around to face his older brother, glaring hard up at him. “Fine. Hold a ball. I’ll even help you. But what if he doesn’t come? Will you drop it then?”

“He’ll come…” Victor said softly. “He has to.”

~~~~~~~

Yuuri did the one thing he always did when something went terribly wrong. He baked.

His hands moved on their own accord, spooning yeast and sugar into a warm water bath, letting it rest. He whisked together carefully weighed flour, salt and sugar, then formed a well at the center, into which he cracked eggs and poured oil. With quick rotations of his wrist, Yuuri pulled in small sections of flour from the sides. Then he grabbed the activated yeast, pouring it over the slurry, and mixed it all together.

Between the rumors that now flowed through town, what Mila had observed and the prince’s words, Yuuri managed to string together the story. After drinking far too much champagne in the palace kitchens, he had gone out into the ballroom with the intention of carving the swan so it could be served to the guests. 

Somehow in that process, Yuuri ended up finding the prince. Or the prince had found him. Drunken Yuuri had told Mila that he was not done dancing with the prince yet, which meant that in his alcohol-fueled state, Yuuri had danced with the prince. In front of a ballroom full of dignitaries and visiting royalty. Horror was too light a term to describe what Yuuri felt.

_He stole my heart._

Yuuri pushed the heels of his palms into the dough, kneading it into the countertop, scraping pieces that stuck back into its body. It was pliable between his fingers, growing smoother each time that Yuuri folded it over onto itself.

_He stole my heart._

Victor’s words had not stopped replaying in Yuuri’s mind. He stole the prince’s heart? How? By nearly dropping a choux swan on his feet? By drunkenly hanging off him? By dancing with him, foolish and unaware of what he was doing?

Yuuri had laid with his face buried in his pillow for hours, eyes clenched shut, trying to search the depths of his mind for any trace of a memory but seeing only black. Apparently he had stolen the prince’s heart and he had no idea how. 

Mila had told him to run to the palace. Mari had cautioned him against making any rash decisions, but did not tell him not to go. Yuuri let a couple days pass, then a few more, contemplating. Each morning he woke up wondering if perhaps the prince might come sweeping in through the front door again. But he didn’t. 

The bakery was busier than usual.

The prince’s abrupt and unconventional trip into the capital city and the purpose for it made gossip spread like wildfire. Everyone in town wanted to catch a glimpse of Yuuri. The whispers reached his ears. Some as he passed by people on the streets, some reported to him by Mila, some in hushed murmurs from new patrons to the bakery who seemed a lot more interested in Yuuri than they did in the breads and pastries they were purchasing. 

_I heard the prince was looking for the Katsuki boy._

_Someone said they’d seen guards dragging him from the bakery._

_Don’t be ridiculous, I was there yesterday, he’s still there._

_From what I gathered, the prince was describing Yuuri as beautiful!_

_Yuuri? Are you sure he wasn’t talking about that redhead he’s always with?_

_What… Oh, Mila, no, her name doesn’t sound anything like Yuuri, how could I possibly make that mistake?_

_The prince looked so angry when I saw him._

_Really? I swore I saw him smiling._

_You’re both wrong, he looked ready to cry._

_Oh, Yuuri, hi, we are just talking about you, come here, how are you? Anything exciting going on in your life recently, hmm?_

The dough was round and smooth, form and texture perfect. Yuuri set it back into the bowl and covered it with a warm damp cloth, leaving it to rise. Automatically, he started on another mixture. 

He had stolen the prince’s heart and had absolutely no recollection of how. So what was he supposed to do now? Heed the prince’s request and march up to the palace? He almost had. The previous day. Made it halfway across the city before glimpsing his own reflection in a shop window and realizing how ridiculous he was being. 

What would he even do if he got there? Apologize because whoever drunk Yuuri was, he certainly was nothing like sober Yuuri. Tell the prince that it was all a big misunderstanding? Admit he had no memory of what happened and hope the prince found it amusing? 

Or maybe he could slam down a bottle of the hardest liquor he could find and stumble there, because apparently a sloppy drunk was exactly the type of thing that the prince liked? Maybe Yuuri could spend the rest of his life perpetually inebriated. Could he do that? For the prince? Probably… No, that was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

Yuuri adjusted his glasses, sliding them up by the bridge with his ring finger. He did not know what to do. 

_I just want to see him again._

How had Yuuri screwed up so badly? He spent half his life waiting for the perfect opportunity to meet the prince and how had he used it once he got it?

Now he was stuck. Because how could he go to the palace and present himself to the prince like this? Shy and nervous beyond measure, blushing even at the mere notion of being able to admire Victor’s crystal blue eyes in such proximity. Messy from work. Exhausted from staring up at ceiling every night, wondering if he should simply flee the city. He could move somewhere else, maybe set up his own bakery in a different city or a different kingdom—Iglesia suited his tastes nicely—somewhere far from the draw of Prince Victor.

But then some little voice at the back of his head reminded him of how kind the prince had been in the kitchens, needlessly helpful and smiling and drop dead gorgeous. How he spoke, rolling his r’s. How he carried himself, posture straight and confident. How his silken hair fell into his face. He was so much _more_ in person than Yuuri ever dared to dream. Maybe the prince would accept Yuuri as he was? Like he always did in Yuuri’s daydreams?

Yuuri dug his palms deeply into the dough and sighed. 

No, the prince wanted a Yuuri who could apparently get away with dancing with royals, who could jump into the prince’s arms without a second thought, and who did not tremble at the idea of meeting him. That was not him. He could not go. Yuuri would not go. 

The prince might have forgotten about him already. Had probably forgotten about him. Definitely forgotten about him. A week had passed. No one and nothing had come back down from the palace. It was stupid of Yuuri to hold onto the shred of hope of getting something, anything, a tiny sign that might give him the courage he needed to at least try. 

Mila burst into through the kitchen door. “Yuuri! Did you see what’s being sent around the capital?!” In her hand, she held up a golden envelope. 

Yuuri felt his chest seize up. 

He had seen one like that once before, sent out to select families within the capital just before the prince’s eighteenth birthday. It had contained an invitation for a grand ball, to celebrate the crown prince coming of age. Nobility, persons of note in the city, and those who served the palace in some way had all been invited. 

Back then, Yuuri had desperately wanted to go. He had already been enamored with the prince for two years at that point, and to think he might have a chance to present the prince with a gift, however small or insignificant, on his birthday… Yuuri had never begged so shamelessly for something before nor after. But in the end, he had been too young and Mari had gone instead. It was the first and last time that Yuuri asked to go to the palace.

“Is it a….”

“There’s going to be a royal ball!” Mila clapped her hands in excitement. “Yuuri! Do you think that… I mean, come on, we had no idea something like this was being planned, and you gotta admit the timing is really… suspicious? He could be... it could be for you.”

Yuuri returned his attention to the dough, not daring to believe any part of Mila’s speculations. It was too much to comprehend. He coated a rolling pin with flour and rolled out the dough, spreading an assortment of dried fruits and nuts along its surface. “’It’s not. It’s a coincidence. He’s probably forgotten all about… whatever it is I did.”

“Well, the invitation has _your_ name on it,” Mila held the envelope in his line of sight. She was right. _Yuuri_ was written in large, looping, elegant letters at the center. “Do you want to open it?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

Yuuri shook his head. He did not trust himself to do it. “Go ahead.”

Mila seated herself on a nearby stool and carefully opened the envelope, taking out the card contained inside. The printing on it could only be defined as regal.

_His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Nikiforov,_  
hereby requests the pleasure of the company of the artisans of the Yutopia Bakery  
at a Ball in the Grand Hall of the Palace  
Held to celebrate the contributions of the citizens of Hasetsu  
on the prolonged prosperity of our great kingdom 

Beneath the script of the invitation, a date and the designated time of arrival also looped, along with specifications to which of the palace gates they should arrive.

“Have they requested we prepare anything for it?” Yuuri asked, maintaining his focus on his task. 

“No, they haven’t,” Mila replied. “Yuuri, I don’t think you understand what this means—”

“I understand what it means, Mila,” Yuuri stopped, staring straight ahead, not at her and certainly not at the invitation in her hands. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

“And?”

“I’m not going.”

~~~~~~~

Victor was a mess.

Georgi had been trying to get him to stop pacing for the last half hour to no avail.

It had been two weeks. _Two weeks!_ Two weeks without Yuuri, without any sign, any response. Victor realized that this was the first time in his life that he actually had to wait for something. He had been afforded the certain royal privilege of being able to simply… get things. Not that Victor wanted for much. The last thing he had actually vied for was Makkachin, and the poodle had been set into his arms easily enough.

Waiting for Yuuri was torture, slow and uncertain, spending every minute on edge, hoping that at any moment an attendant would walk in to inform him that someone with dark hair and brown eyes was at the gates, inquiring about a chance to see Victor. 

Shortly after sending out the invitations, Victor had nearly raced back into the capital, overcome with the need to know that Yuuri had received it. He stopped just outside the main gates and then, after a moment’s hesitation, retreated back inside the grounds, too afraid that once again he would find that Yuuri was not there or that the invitation had been tossed aside. 

“What if it’s too soon?” Victor asked no one in particular. “What if he isn’t back in the capital yet? What if he didn’t get the invitation? Should I have included something more personal? I didn’t want to scare him off. What if it wasn’t enough? What if he doesn’t realize it was meant for him?”

“You did write his name in the biggest lettering possible, your highness. I don’t think it will be easily missed,” Georgi reminded, tone slightly exasperated as he watched Victor nervously pull at the hem of his white shirt, noting that it would have to be readjusted. _Again._

“What if it’s too late? I should have gone to the bakery again. I should have sent someone there to see if he returned. I should have invited him personally. What if he forgot about me already? Do you think that’s possible? Someone like him, he probably has people falling over themselves for a chance to be near him constantly. No wonder he’s never come here before, he’s probably too busy with all his suitors… Why would he want to bother with a prince?” Victor pushed his bangs up and out of his face, holding them back, his face wrought with concern. 

“My prince, we just fixed your hair…” Georgi protested weakly, so close to accepting defeat.

“What if he doesn’t come, Georgi? What do I do then? I can’t make it through this ball without him. This was a bad idea. Was this a bad idea?”

With a sigh, Georgi stood up and approached the flustered prince. Calmly, he smoothed the front of Victor’s shirt, ensuring the folds in the fabric were straight and the golden clasps across center of his chest still held their polished sheen. He hummed a little as he adjusted the collar of Victor’s richly-dyed purple robes, checking the fine gold stitching along the lapel. “Why don’t we focus on making you presentable for when he _does_ come? How do you expect to sweep him off his feet in return if you’re looking like a wreck?”

Victor stopped fidgeting. At Georgi’s prompting, he flopped down into the chair before the vanity, so that his dresser could brush his hair again.

The gentle pull and the sensation of the brush moving along his scalp calmed him slightly. Although Victor did find himself wondering how much better it might be if Yuuri were the one behind the ministrations. Right. He should focus on a positive outlook, rather than getting worked up on the negatives. Yuuri had looked like he enjoyed dancing with Victor just as much as Victor did, if his wide smile was anything to go by. 

But then again, Yuuri had been so non-responsive when Victor first saw him in the kitchens. And Yuuri had practically vanished into thin air twice. Victor did not know what to expect that night. He was so invested in chasing after that splendid young man that he had not stopped to consider what it would mean not to find him. 

He promised his brother he would give up if Yuuri did not show at the ball, but in his heart, he knew that he would not be able to. Not until he saw Yuuri again. He wanted to know how it was possible for someone to be so _impossible._

“Georgi, is it always this hard?” Victor questioned, watching his own reflection in the mirror as Georgi carefully positioned his crown, then played with a few strands of silver hair until Victor once again resembled the proper image of a put-together prince.

“No,” Georgi replied with a small, knowing smile. “Sometimes it’s a lot harder. You’ve only just met him and already your heart flies so high. Imagine what it would be like to be absorbed by that love. It’s a dangerous game, my prince. Try not to fly too fast toward that sun of yours.” Georgi’s hands left Victor. “You wouldn’t want your wings to burn.”

~~~~~~~

Mila refused to let go of Yuuri’s hands. She was pleading, begging, bribing and threatening, but her words were all repetitions of the things she had said since the invitation arrived.

Yuuri shook his head again, refusing to meet her eyes. He kept his gaze down, focused on the stained and worn tips of his shoes. 

“Yuuri, come on, it’s not too late to change your mind. Just get in the coach with us, please. Two steps, that’s all it takes!”

“Like this?” Yuuri laughed, glancing down at himself. He had purposefully busied himself with the messiest, most difficult recipes possible that day. 

His shirt was rumpled, back of it still damp from the sweat which resulted of long hours spent too close to a fired masonry. Halfway through the day, he had shed his apron, the front of his clothes coated in a mixture of flour, sugar and flecks of dough. He had been determined to do all that he could to put himself in the worst condition possible, so that when the coach arrived, there would be no way for him to change his mind. 

Each time, the tiny voice at the back of his head _screamed_ at him to _go_ , Yuuri slapped it away, rubbing flour-dusted hands over his face and through his hair. “Go have fun. You’ve always wanted to go to a palace ball.”

Mari was already seated properly in the coach. With the door open, Yuuri could glimpse the golden invitation envelope resting in her lap, atop the satin of her chocolate-colored dress. Her eyes were on her brother, her lips pressed together. She had already warned Yuuri that ignoring a direct invitation from the prince might have consequence, but Yuuri was willing to face it. What he could not face was the prince. The gracious, stunning, kind-hearted prince of the Nikiforov kingdom. The prince and a baker. What a horrible joke that he had considered it even for a second. 

“Mila, we’re going to be late,” Mari said quietly.

Mila gave Yuuri one final pained look before gathering up the emerald skirt of her gown, so it would not drag on her ground behind her. The deep color complimented her eyes and vivid hair in a striking fashion. Yuuri thought that Mari looked more beautiful than ever as well, her dress such a contrast to the plain clothes she usually wore, normally unruly hair drawn into an elegant bun held together with bejeweled pins put in place by their mother. 

Their parents had also forgone the invitation, claiming their age too great for a lively ball, and that Mila and Mari could more gracefully represent the bakery. They instead elected to spent the evening dining and drinking at the town hall with the Nishigoris, enjoying a far more casual celebration. Yuuri received an invitation to that as well, but did not want to expose himself to the whispers that had yet to fade away completely. 

Mila stepped up into the coach, but turned back toward Yuuri the moment she had taken her seat. “Any message I should pass on?” she asked, reaching out to squeeze at Yuuri’s hands again, giving them a quick tug as if in a last request for him to join them. “In case he asks about you?”

“He won’t,” Yuuri murmured back, then buckled when Mila clenched his fingers in a painfully strong manner, making her point unmistakable. “Ahh, ow, okay okay, let go!” Mila’s hold loosened.

“Umm… just wait a second.” Yuuri managed to slip out of her grasp, dashing inside the bakery and remerging half a minute later, carrying a small pastry box.

He had spent the evening debating on whether to ask her to deliver it or not. However, if it stayed there, Yuuri might do something to it out of frustration or eat it himself. “You can… give him this? Or don’t. I don’t know if you’ll be able to. Maybe he won’t like it. You don’t have to say it’s from me or… well, you can decide.” Yuuri realized that he was rambling, so he paused, inhaling deeply. “If he asks… just say that... I’m sorry that I couldn’t come.” 

Mila took the box from Yuuri, lifting the lid, and a smile tugged at her glossed lips. “It’s beautiful, Yuuri, but you could give it to him yourself?”

Yuuri’s hard expression told her all she needed, and Mila nodded obediently. “Okay, well take care of yourself tonight. Don’t throw any crazy parties,” she teased and set the pastry box on the seat beside her, shutting the coach door.

Taking a step back, Yuuri waved to the two women, smiling lightly as he admired how gorgeous both of them looked compared to the utter mess that he appeared to be. There was the clap of reigns from the coach driver, and the horses started forward, pulling the coach away from the shop front. 

Yuuri stood alone on the darkening streets, listening to the clatter of horse hooves and the creak of wooden wheels against the cobbled stone. A spring evening breeze whirled past him, carrying with it the scent of rain and newly bloomed flowers. The coach headed steadily toward the palace and Yuuri followed it with his eyes until it was out of sight.

He remained unmoving even after, gaze shifting up to the palace which rested just north of the capital, on the crest of a hill. In the distance, it appeared so much smaller and less daunting. How lively it would be tonight. How lovely would the prince look. Perhaps Mila would tell him in the morning…

Another gust of wind blew through Yuuri. He almost stumbled with its unexpected force and turned quickly toward the bakery to escape it, only to freeze.

Because he was supposed to be facing the front door of the bakery. Instead he faced another man. With dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. Who was busy dusting glitter off his clothing, sparkling white and blue fabric clinging to his slim frame. Yuuri’s eyes followed the glitter as it descended to the ground, vanishing the moment it touched stone. 

“Ummm… the bakery’s closed?” Yuuri tried, unsure of what else to say, unable to process how this glittering man had suddenly manifested behind him. Had he been that distracted by the progression of the coach?

The dark-skinned man jerked his head up and black eyes met Yuuri’s. “Ahh!” He jumped and yelled, hand flying to his own chest, clutching above his heart in surprise. “Yuuri, hi!” He beamed over a short laugh. “Oh… can you see me?”

Yuuri blinked at the question. “Yes?”

“Damn it! Screwed up again, ugh, I swore I had it right this time…” the glittering man mumbled to himself, then straightened, clearing his throat. “I was going to make my entrance way more dramatic. Event worthy. But I guess this works too!” He spread his arms with a flourish, as if displaying himself to Yuuri. “Tada~!”

Yuuri was at a loss. Had he been drinking again without realizing it. “….Who are you?”

“I’m Phichit!” The answer came back cheerfully and with a flick of wrists that sent more glitter sparkling into the air. “Your fairy god… person!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it took me five chapters to get to Phichit... Are we finally getting to the proper Cinderella ball next time? Hmmm... I wonder.
> 
> And thanks for all the support so far~! I love your comments, and if you like, come chat with me on tumblr [@lucycamui](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com) ~~I'm still learning how to use it~~


	6. With a Baker

Yuuri stared.

Phichit had a mouthful of cream puff, chewing with an impossibly wide grin on his face, cheeks ballooned like a hamster’s. “Oh my _gawd_ Yuuri, this is incredible!” he smacked his lips together. “Like, everyone said you were supposed to be this amaaaaazing pastry chef, but not like I could know without trying myself, you know? But this is like… holy shit. Wow. Yeah, wow.”

Yuuri did not know what to say. Not in reaction to the over-the-top compliments. But because Phichit was floating. 

He had not noticed it at first, but now it was impossible not to pay attention. The fairy god… person… was on a stool inside the bakery kitchen, but not actually making contact with the seat. Yuuri could probably pass a hand between Phichit and the stool he was supposed to be sitting on, because Phichit was _floating._

Phichit dusted off his hands, rubbing his palms quickly against each other, sending more bursts of glitter into the air with each movement. Yuuri was certain that the floor and counter would have been coated with the stuff if it didn’t simply _vanish_ the moment it made contact with anything. 

“Yuuri?” Phichit asked gently, noticing that the baker was staring. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, Yuuri tried to search for what to say. There was a million questions running through his mind, intensified each time that Phichit opened his mouth and spurted out another mash of words that should have made sense but did not. So he settled for the one at the forefront. “Are you always so… sparkly?”

“Huh?” Phichit glanced down at himself, as if he had no idea what Yuuri was talking about. “Oh, the glitter, yeah no, not usually… I messed up some magic yesterday and this is the side effect. It should fade… soon… I think.”

“You messed up… some magic…” Yuuri repeated. There might have been more doubt to his voice if it were not for the fact that Phichit was floating and glittering with every motion. 

“Yeah! Don’t worry about it though, like, it’s not a big deal at all. One of my classmates messed up a transformation spell _bad_ , like super bad, and he was a frog for a _week_. Hilarious.” Phichit paused, running a finger across his lower lip. As he did so glitter spread across it. “…He still eats flies sometimes though…”

Yuuri did not know what to say. 

“Anyway!” Phichit clapped his hands (more glitter) and rose up. Yuuri tried not to pay attention to the fact that his feet did not touch the floor. “Umm, so, like, what’s up with the whole not going to the ball thing? That’s super lame, do you know how hard I worked on that and you’re just blowing it off?!”

Yuuri opened his mouth and then closed it again. His brows furled. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah! It’s not easy, you know, going around your world!” Phichit crossed his arms over his chest, giving Yuuri a clearly put-on glare. “Whispering suggestions to everyone. _‘How fab would a swan be?’ ‘Maybe you should head down to the kitchens right about now.’ ‘Some champagne might do Yuuri a bit of good.’ ‘Hey girls, the prince is totally talking about Yuuri, maybe you could help him out.’_ Do you know how exhausting all of that is?! I’ve never had to take so many naps!”

“…Champagne?” Yuuri asked weakly.

“Yeah, champagne, cause you weren’t going to go after the prince on your own even though he’s so damn smitten with you! Seriously, Yuuri, like they said you were difficult, but… _come on_.” 

It was hard to pick out which of Phichit’s words to follow up on first. 

“You gave me the champagne?” Yuuri was confused. Because this glittering Phichit seemed to know everything. And Yuuri could guess where this was going. He was not sure if he believed it though. Not entirely. It was all too unreal.

“No, I didn’t give you the champagne.” Phichit rolled his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Mila gave you the champagne. I just gave her the idea to give you the champagne.”

“Did you also give me the idea to drink that much?” Yuuri asked, trying to figure out what he was hearing and how it connected to all that had happened. Because Phichit was clearly talking about the banquet. 

Phichit laughed, waving his hands in dismissal. Still more glitter. “Oh no, that was all you. Actually, it went waaaay better than I planned, to be honest. I didn’t think you were going to dance with the prince like that, but it was so _awesome_.”

“….So I did dance with the prince?” Yuuri confirmed, taking a seat on the stool Phichit had been using earlier. His knees felt too weak, ready to give out at any moment. And he certainly could not float like Phichit. 

“Yeah, you danced with the prince a lot,” Phichit nodded with a grin. “Like a lot a lot. It was beautiful to watch. You danced with the prince of Giacometti too, you know. And of Leroy. And the Crispino twins. Damn, Yuuri, actually I think you might have danced with almost everyone there. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Yuuri felt ready to faint. “…Are they all chasing after me too?”

“No.” Phichit laughed, then paused in consideration. “Actually, maybe watch yourself if you run into Christophe again. He really liked you. I don’t know. I’d have to ask Masumi…”

Yuuri did not bother asking who Masumi was. He did not think he needed to know. Probably would not understand anyway. “Okay so… can you explain to me what’s going on here? Why… why are you… doing this?”

The way Phichit moved was enchanting. He glided over the air as if skating until he was right in front of Yuuri. He crossed one leg over the other, taking on a pose as if he were sitting except there was no chair beneath him to hold him up. “Because I’m your fairy god person!” he chirped, like it was supposed to make sense to Yuuri. “And you’re my… uhhh, what do I call it… my thesis project? Kinda? I guess.”

“You guess,” Yuuri muttered, and glanced around the bakery, wondering when he was going to wake up from this strange dream. Everything seemed solid. Too real. “All right, what is this… thesis project?”

“Well, it’s different for every fairy! But, like, in order to get our license, we have to complete some project. Some of my classmates tried to make spring start early, others help with the harvest season, or encourage someone through a particularly hard journey. I was actually going to help this author with a really bad case of writer’s block over in Nekola come up with this _amazing_ idea for a new book, but then my mentor quit before I got started,” Phichit explained. 

“Your mentor quit?” Yuuri inquired quietly.

“Yeah. Ciao Ciao. He’s great! But, uhhh, well, I was in his office when he got this new case… And it was you. He, umm, kinda took one look at your profile and then looked at me and… I think that combination was too much for him?” Phichit laughed with only a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “So he decided to retire right on the spot. So, that’s how you got me!” 

Yuuri was not sure how he was supposed to feel in reaction to that story. Bewildered. That was a good word for it. “How nice? What’s my… case?”

Phichit shook his head. Glitter flew from the tips of his hair. “Sorry, that’s confidential. Probably easy enough to guess anyway,” he winked. Yuuri wondered how he did not get glitter in his eyes. “But, Yuuri, you’re killing me. How am I supposed to get my license if you keep running away from Victor every single time? You should be running to Victor! Straight into his arms. Like, what am I doing wrong here? You like him, right?”

A blush crept up onto Yuuri’s cheeks in response. It was the first question that Phichit asked him that actually made sense. One that he could actually answer. “…Yes.”

“So what’s the problem? Why aren’t you at the ball, dancing the night away?”

Yuuri glanced down at himself, his clothes a total mess, coated in remnants of sugar and flour from that day’s baked goods. “I’m not really in any condition to go to a royal ball,” he muttered.

“You did that to yourself,” Phichit pointed out. “Don’t think I didn’t watch you. I’ve been setting this up for aaaages, and you went and ruined the whole thing in a single afternoon.”

Not responding, Yuuri kept his eyes in his lap, a bit of shame coursing through him at the knowledge that he had ruined whatever work Phichit had put into this. “Wait,” he looked up quickly. “How much of this is your doing?”

“Umm… well, to be honest, I just started,” Phichit admitted with a quick smile, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “No one else wanted your case, cause you’re notoriously stubborn, so it sat there for a while... But, it was promised that if anyone was successful, it’d be an automatic license, so I took it! The first thing was getting you to finally go to the palace. I can’t believe I managed it so easily too! I was shocked.”

Yuuri blinked. And then his eyes grew wide. “You pushed my mom down the stairs for that?!”

Phichit leapt up, a fountain of glitter erupting from him at the sudden movement. “Oh my gawd, Yuuri, no!!! That’s messed up! I would never! Okay, it was a little bit my fault. Tiny bit. Not even really. I was going to suggest to her that maybe she drink from that bottle of milk that had started to go bad, just to give her a bit of a stomachache so she’d send you instead, but maybe I whispered a little too loudly, so she got spooked and tripped instead? But I didn’t mean for her to get hurt, I swear, Yuuri, you gotta believe me!”

Yuuri was not sure what to believe. But figured that if this was a dream, the best thing he could do was push through it. And if it wasn’t… then he did not know what to make of it. “So you can make people do things?”

“Not really,” Phichit replied, settling back down when he was certain Yuuri wasn’t going to jump him. “I can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to. I can encourage them a little, whisper suggestions to help guide them along the right path, but _some_ people are way more stubborn than others.”

Yuuri easily caught the stress in Phichit’s words. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. I’ve never had someone that good at ignoring me.” Phichit chuckled a little, his tone almost proud. “You’re something special all right.”

“Then… every time I thought about going to the palace this week… that’s all been you?” Yuuri inquired, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“No. Sometimes. Maybe half and half. If you really didn’t want to go, there’s nothing I would be able to do about it. But you do want to go.” Phichit said the words matter-of-factly, as if there were no denying them. “Right?”

Biting on his lower lip, Yuuri glanced back up. Phichit’s eyes were watching him with intent and there was no way that Yuuri could lie to him. Seemed like Phichit could read his thoughts anyway, so there would be no point in trying. “I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?!” Phichit demanded, throwing his arms up in exasperation. Glitter again. “You know the prince set up this ball just so you would come! Or wasn’t that obvious?”

“That’s the problem!” Yuuri replied, his voice coming out louder than he intended it to. “Who does that? Who sets up a ball for someone they just met? Isn’t that… crazy? And he’s the prince! I’m just…” Yuuri’s voice grew softer, “…a baker.”

“A baker who stole the prince’s heart,” Phichit winked.

“I was drunk,” Yuuri protested. “I don’t even remember what happened!”

“Oh!” Phichit perked up and leaned in toward Yuuri. “Do you want to? I can show you. It’s not a complicated spell, I think I can do it. I’ve practiced it before!”

Yuuri leaned back. “I’d rather not glitter like that…” He could not imagine the kind of complaints that would come in from customers if they found their breads full of the stuff because of some magic gone wrong. How would he explain that one?

Phichit pouted but shrugged his shoulders. “Look, Yuuri… I know you have your doubts and all, you’re nervous, you think that the prince couldn’t possibly like you for you, that if you go to this ball all you’re going to come home with is heartbreak, but I’m here to tell you that’s bullshit.”

It was strange, having someone reiterate his own thoughts back at himself, but Yuuri listened.

“I mean, I can’t promise you that if you go everything is going to be perfect, but isn’t it better to go and find out for yourself rather than spending the rest of your life wondering what could have happened?” Phichit asked and reached over, taking hold of Yuuri’s hands. As he did, Yuuri felt a spark shoot through him, making his skin tingle. Phichit’s gaze was still intense, yet gentle, understanding. “You’re going to regret it, you know… If you don’t go. You’ll always know that you had the chance but never took it. And believe me, that’s a feeling worse than any rejection or screw up. So what do you say? Will you go? If not for yourself or for the prince, for me? You’ll be doing me a huuuuuge favor. Pleaaaaase?”

Yuuri released a short laugh, not pulling his hands away from Phichit’s. He stayed quiet, feeling the buzz from Phichit’s contact, wondering if his fairy godperson was passing some magic through the touch and if he would start spouting glitter at any moment as well. “…O-okay…” He said, hesitant, and then repeated it to cement the decision in himself, “Okay.”

“Okay?!” Phichit’s eyes grew huge, as if he wasn’t able to believe what he heard. “Okay? Okay! Okay, let’s go!!!” He sprung up, pulling Yuuri up into the air with an enthusiastic hug. 

For a second, Yuuri floated with him before Phichit set him down and began flying around the kitchen. Literally flying. Yuuri thought he saw the faint outline of translucent blue wings, but he blinked and they were gone. 

“Okay, okay, umm, wow, honestly I wasn’t expecting you to say yes, but okay! We… we should go outside. Let’s go outside. We need to get you cleaned up, cause I am not sending you to the ball looking like that. Oh wow, Yuuri, you’re going! Aaaaaaah, I am so excited!” Phichit grabbed Yuuri’s hands again, and the next moment they were outside, behind the bakery, in the little garden that his father kept. 

Phichit fluttered around excitedly, back and forth, looking at Yuuri and then around the garden, as if he was not sure where to focus his attention. “Okay. We’re gonna do this. You’re going to the ball. We need to get you to the ball. We gotta… we gotta… ummm…” he spun around, facing Yuuri, and smiled meekly. “What do we gotta do?”

Yuuri laughed at that, feeling a sense of relief that for once he was not the only person obviously wrecked with nerves. “Well, if I’m going… I need a coach? I can’t walk there.”

“Right!” Phichit agreed enthusiastically. “A coach. I can make you a coach, definitely.” He glanced around the garden, frowning. “Ummm… you got anything I can use?”

“Like what?” Yuuri inquired. “I don’t really know how you… work.”

“I don’t know, something round?” Phichit answered, floating between the greens of the garden, looking down at the ground. “Like a pumpkin or a cabbage or something?”

“It’s kind of the wrong time of year for that,” Yuuri pointed out. “It’s spring.”

“Huh,” Phichit nodded slowly in consideration. “Well, I don’t know what you have, but anything will do. As long as it’s got that shape to it. Even like, a pork cutlet bowl or something—nah, that’s stupid, you don’t want to show up in a cutlet carriage, how bad would that smell…” He kept muttering to himself, brows pulled to the center, and then an idea shot through him. “Oh!”

With a flash of glitter, Phichit suddenly disappeared and Yuuri jumped when another flash brought the fairy back, directly in front of him. 

“Here, hold that!” Phichit declared and placed a cream puff in Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri looked at it curiously, wondering what Phichit intended to do with it. “Uhh, okay, let’s see here…”

Glancing back up, Yuuri noticed that a thickly-bound book had materialized in Phichit’s hands. The fairy was reading through whatever text was on the pages, fingertip moving along the lines as he mouthed words. “Oh, wait, on second thought, don’t hold that,” Phichit directed, and the nervous laugh which sounded from his lips was not reassuring. “Put it down. And step back.”

Yuuri scrambled to obey, setting the cream puff on the ground and taking several long strides backwards, to give Phichit space for whatever it was he planned to do with the cream puff.

“This is the most ridiculous incantation ever, I’m not going to say this out loud,” Phichit muttered and looked up from his book, his dark eyes trained on the rounded pastry. He puffed out his cheeks and then flicked one of his wrists, shooting ribbons of glitter which encircled the pastry.

Yuuri watched the glitter absorb into the cream puff, holding his breath and… nothing. A second passed. Then another. Then a minute. The garden was quiet and the pastry rested on the ground, unchanged, no trace of glitter or magic shimmering around it whatsoever. 

“Huh, that’s… not right,” Phichit said, a twitch of uncertainty in his tone. His eyes were back on the text in his hands and he let out a quiet, “Oooooooh.” He snapped his fingers and Yuuri leapt back, because instantly the cream puff ballooned to the size of a full-blown coach. 

The clear blue of Phichit’s wings was briefly made visible to Yuuri when the fairy whirled around it, tracing a touch around the circumference, and the world’s largest pastry transformed into a carriage with paneling the color of cream, edges lined with vines of gold and mother of pearl.

Phichit landed behind Yuuri and grinned. “Tada~!”

“Ummm… wow?” Yuuri responded, not finding any other words that could accurately describe his feelings in that moment. 

“Right?!” Phichit clapped Yuuri over the back, as if he was just as shocked. “What next?”

“I guess a driver? And a horse?”

“Good idea!” Phichit called back in agreement. “A horse, huh… I need an animal for that.” Again, his eyes flinted around the garden. “You wouldn’t happen to have any mice or something residing around here?”

Yuuri shook his head. “No? It’s a bakery, so if there were mice around it would definitely be a big problem.”

“Riiiiiiiight,” Phichit answered and hummed as he thought. “I’ve got something you can use, but you have to _promise_ to give them back to me. They’re my babies, okay?”

Before Yuuri was able to ask what it was he would be promising to return, Phichit slipped his hands into pockets Yuuri could not tell existed and pulled out three tiny hamsters. They scurried around Phichit’s palms, climbing and tumbling over each other. The fairy pressed kisses to the top of each of their head’s and set them down on the ground. 

The hamsters hardly had a moment to spin in a circle, attempting to flee from the waves of glitter, before springing up. Instead of hamsters, Yuuri found himself looking at a majestic palomino horse and two attendants who had round cheeks and heavy beards and wiggled their noses as they gazed at each other in wonder. 

Phichit spun around to face Yuuri with an expression of pride. “All right! Now let’s take care of you.” His dark gaze was strong, eyes narrowing slightly at he studied Yuuri, tapping a finger against his lips as if deciding how to best adorn the man in front of him. “Hmm…”

Yuuri fidgeted, rubbing his hands over his forearms nervously. “What are you going to do?”

“I… don’t know,” Phichit answered honestly. “I’ve actually never done magic on humans before.”

Yuuri’s eyes grew wide and he took a step back, only to feel Phichit’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him forward.

“Don’t worry about it though!” Phichit assured. “It shouldn’t be hard! …I think.”

The book in Phichit’s hands again and same breeze that Yuuri had felt earlier enveloped him, billowing around his legs and his chest, through his hair, stirring up dust. Yuuri closed his eyes and kept them shut until the breeze faded and Phichit cried out something in excitement.

“Oh, Yuuri, _damn_ , do I do good work or what?!” 

Yuuri glanced down at himself. And almost had a heart attack. 

His messy work clothes were gone, replaced by clinging black fabric and _mesh_. The material seemed to sparkle as he flipped his hands over to examine it and there were crystals adorning one hip and the opposite shoulder. Yuuri did his best not to panic immediately. “Phichit! This—this is, uhh, I can’t wear this! …What even is this?!”

“It’s hot, that’s what that is!” Phichit chirped in response, smile stretched clear across his face. “You’ll have the prince seduced in a second flat in that!”

“I don’t want to seduce him!” Yuuri protested, flushing at the thought. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling exposed with the slit of mesh traveling up part of his chest. “And this really isn’t ball appropriate wear! What else are you going to make me wear, glass heels!?”

Phichit’s expression twisted in confusion. “Why would I give you glass heels, do you know how uncomfortable that would be for a ball? Hell no.”

“This is equally uncomfortable!”

Phichit huffed in response, rolling his eyes. “Fine. What do you want then?”

“Something less… scandalous?” Yuuri said, unsure himself of what he should be picturing. Something that might catch the prince’s gaze and hold it, make it so he could not look away, but something that Yuuri would not feel embarrassed about wearing. If Yuuri was going to the ball, he wanted to spend every last moment with the prince, clinging onto the fantasy of being with him, even if it was only for a night.

“All right, how about this?” Phichit asked and the next moment the black mesh clinging to Yuuri’s skin turned into pressed navy formal wear.

Yuuri craned his neck around to take in the details of the perfectly fitted clothing, the dark gold lines which lined his sleeves, swirled designs at his shoulders, and accented his waist. He noticed how the fabric still shimmered, but a lot more subtly, concentrated along the hems of his sleeves and the folds at the front of his jacket. The material of the shirt beneath was light and cool against his skin. “I… I can wear this.”

Phichit glided forward and plucked Yuuri’s glasses off his face, then the fairy moved his hands through Yuuri’s hair, slicking it back with whatever magic transferred from his touch. Yuuri blinked when Phichit moved away, finding that he could see clearly without his glasses.

“That spell won’t last,” Phichit warned, seemingly reading Yuuri’s thoughts. “Well… I think you’re ready?” Phichit circled Yuuri once, as if taking in his handiwork, humming in approval and making Yuuri blush. “Anything else you think you need?”

“How about a good dose of confidence?” Yuuri joked weakly, only to be met with a determined gaze from Phichit.

Without saying a word, Phichit lightly clapped hands together, and drew them apart slowly. A mound of glitter grew between his palms and with a gentle exhale, Phichit blew it over Yuuri. As the glitter made contact with his skin and melted into it, Yuuri felt his nerves evaporate, heart calming its rapid fluttering.

“Better?” Phichit questioned.

Surprised, Yuuri nodded. 

“Good!” Phichit exclaimed. “Let’s go then!” He threw his arms into the air and Yuuri found himself on the street in front of the bakery. The bewitched horse was fitted with reigns, strapped into the carriage. The hamster-turned driver sat at the front of the coach, and the second attendant stood at the open carriage door, waiting for Yuuri to enter it. Phichit quickly herded him up into it and Yuuri obediently took his seat.

“I think that’s it…” The book was back in Phichit’s hands and he flipped back and forth through the pages, squinting at text that Yuuri could not begin to understand. “Oh yeah!” Phichit hit a line in fine, handwritten curls scribbled at the bottom corner of a page. “So, by the way, because I’m still not licensed, some of the magic might fade after midnight. Technical thing. Don’t worry about it too much. Just thought I’d warn you. But you’ll be fine!”

Yuuri nodded as if he understood. The question of whether an unlicensed fairy was even allowed to practice magic had hung at the back of his mind all evening, but he decided not to ask. He was more lost in the haze of the realization that he was actually going to the ball, that the prince was supposedly waiting for him, and also the fact that he did not feel scared but _excited_. 

The carriage door shut with a click and Yuuri quickly faced the window. “Phichit!” He was not entirely sure of what he should say. What he could say. He was still uncertain if he was in a dream or not, but even if he was… “Thank you.”

“No problem!” Phichit flashed a smile and a victory sign. “You have no idea how much you’re helping me out. Anyway, have fun, Yuuri! I want to hear that you danced all night with the love of your life.”

“He’s not—” Yuuri began to protest, but Phichit cut him off with a glittery wink.

“He _might_ be.” His words rang with a layer of knowledge that Yuuri could not bring himself to consider. “Now get! Every second you waste on me is a second you could have had with him.” Phichit floated away from the carriage and whistled to the driver. “Good luck, Yuuri!”

Yuuri squeezed his own hands together in his lap as the carriage jolted forward. He leaned forward and went to call out another thanks to Phichit, but the fairy was gone. With a sigh, Yuuri settled into the luxury of the carriage, sinking into the fluffy white cushions supposedly transformed from cream (although he did not want to think too much about that fact).

The distance to the palace was not that great, but the ride felt stretched out by anticipation. Yuuri listened to the rumble of the carriage wheels over the cobbled streets and closed his eyes. It was almost strange not to be riddled with nervousness, his skin instead tingling with the knowledge that soon he would be in front of the prince. 

He had swept the prince off his feet once, and he could do it again. It had still been him at the banquet, even if he had been fueled by alcohol. He would simply cling to tonight all the more, driven instead by the determination to commit the evening to memory, one that he would never relinquish. Even if he was able to secure just a single dance with the prince, it would be enough to keep his heart singing until time itself stopped. Yuuri would finally have his beloved prince, his Victor, if only for a moment. 

The carriage halted. 

Yuuri released a deep breath and lifted his eyelashes as the carriage door opened. He stepped out in front of the grand entrance to the palace, taking in the beauty of the architecture and the glow of light spilling from inside its vast halls. 

His pulse quickened, but Yuuri strode forward, up the steps to the beautifully carved and gilded doors flanked by attendants. His thoughts were full of Victor, of his striking blue eyes and his breathtaking smile, and Yuuri believed for a second that he could feel how warm and strong the prince’s arms had been around him, wishing to have feeling once more because if he did, he would never permit himself to forget it again. 

So lost in his thoughts of Victor, Yuuri was slightly startled when one of the palace attendants stepped out in front of him and held out an arm to halt his movements. The words the attendants spoke did not process in Yuuri’s mind the first time and he responded with a quick apology and a request for repetition.

“Your invitation, sir.”

Visions of dancing with Victor were torn from his head. Yuuri stared at the attendant for a moment and then glanced down at his own empty hands. He did not have the invitation. Mila and Mari had taken it with them. 

“I… I don’t have it.”

He did not have the invitation. The words repeated themselves in Yuuri’s mind, mocking, but quickly he pushed them away, making eye contact with the attendant. He would beg if he had to. “Please, my family arrived earlier, they had it with them, if you could—”

“My deepest apologies, sir, I cannot.”

The words were firm and unfaltering, and remained so as Yuuri continued to plead. 

“All attendees to the royal ball must bring with them the invitation sent by the crown prince. No one else shall be permitted.”

All of Yuuri’s words and explanations, his pleads and requests fell onto deaf ears, and he could hardly blame them. The resolve of the palace attendant only strengthened with each moment that Yuuri spent unsuccessfully attempting to talk his way inside.

Shoulders slumped, Yuuri finally murmured out an apology and took a step back. He dipped his head once and sighed, taking one last look up at the beauty of the palace doors immediately before him, doors that he would not be permitted to enter, and turned away from them.

How cruel of a dream. To lift him so high only to shove him off the peak. 

Yuuri stepped down onto the top stair to begin his descent back down to the carriage, wondering if he could wish for another burst of magic that might grant him entrance, but no glitter appeared to save him. Yuuri took another slow step down, his spirit sinking with each one.

“Hey, cream puff!”

The shout was harsh and bitter, the power of the bite in its tone ripping through him. Yuuri turned back, stunned to see the two palace attendants frozen rigid at attention as a blonde stormed out to stand at the top of the staircase, glaring down at Yuuri. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?!”

Yuuri instantly dropped into a low bow, unable to produce any words in response.

The younger of the two princes scoffed at him in irritation, and when Yuuri dared to look back up, he could see the prince’s regal ballroom wear, his blonde hair drawn up in braids, arms crossed over his chest in judgment, and his expression overtaken by the fiercest of scowls. “I said, where do you think you’re going?”

“I-… I beg your pardon, your highness, I seem to have forgotten my invitation,” Yuuri stammered in response, straightening his posture. “I’ll be on my way…”

Yuuri could not catch what the younger prince muttered under his breath, but he did not miss the second glare that was fired at him. He shifted uncomfortably.

A moment passed and although the blonde’s hard expression did not soften, he uncrossed his arms. “Are you planning on standing on those stairs all night?”

“….No?” Yuuri tried. “No, your highness, I wasn’t.”

“Good. Then get the hell inside.”

Yuuri blinked. He did not breathe. And bowed deeply again when he realized what the words meant, but the prince had turned away, already headed back inside. Yuuri scrambled to follow.

This time, the palace attendants did not stop him. Yuuri passed through the intimidating front doors, his heart pumping hard, and he found that the blonde prince was waiting for him. Still glaring. Yuuri wondered what he had done to deserve the treatment, suspecting that something in his lack of memory from the banquet played a part.

The blonde royal muttered something again, but Yuuri managed to make out the words. And his pulse jumped again. _“I swear, you idiots are fucking perfect for each other…”_

The younger prince then literally pushed Yuuri toward the ballroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did not intend to write ten pages of Phichit but I don't regret it in the least  
> Next: The Ball~
> 
> Comments are lovely ^_^


	7. And Together They Danced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just noticed that this fic has 500 subscribers?  
> I'm so flattered by all the support so far, and I really hope you're all enjoying reading this fic as much as I am enjoying writing it. 
> 
> Now, without further ado...  
> The Ball

Georgi was wrong after all. The ball _was_ a bad idea.

With every guest that Victor greeted, the choking feeling in his chest grew stronger. He had tried talking himself down when the guests began to arrive. No matter how much he wanted for Yuuri to be the first to arrive, he knew that it was unlikely. And if Yuuri had been the first to arrive, Victor would have still been forced to remain to greet everyone else, so it was a _good_ thing that Yuuri did not arrive early. 

If Victor wanted to focus all of his attention on Yuuri, he should have invited only Yuuri… Why didn’t he invite only Yuuri? There was an idea. That was what he should have done. That was what he really wanted. A night with only Yuuri.

Victor thought of what it would be like to finally see Yuuri enter… How would Yuuri look, all dressed up for a ball? Stunning. Definitely stunning. Yuuri had been stunning in his kitchen apron, to think of him in ball attire could make Victor weak at the knees. 

Yet, each set of guests arrived and Yuuri did not. Victor carried on with his duties, greeted every man and woman that bowed before him. He smiled and offered genuine expressions of gratitude, because he was grateful and he did want to recognize the contributions every guest had on the prosperity of the kingdom. However, his thoughts were elsewhere and as the time passed, Victor found more and more than he had to be drawn back to attention by his brother’s elbow jabbing purposefully into his ribs.

Each minute ticked by and there was no Yuuri. Each guest was announced and none of them were Yuuri. 

“Yura… what if he’s not coming?”

“There are still guests arriving. This ball was your idea so shut up and hold yourself accountable for your rash decisions,” Yuri muttered back in the brief moments they had between guests. The younger prince dearly regretted his decision to help Victor plan the ball ever since he had agreed to it. Victor had agonized over each decision. The flowers, the music, his clothes, the drinks, all with the same, _“Do you think Yuuri would like it?”_ Yuri started to wonder if one of them was adopted because there was no way he could be related to the pining mess beside him.

“But what if he doesn’t come?”

“Then he doesn’t come and you accept it as his answer to you and you _drop it_ ,” Yuri replied through clenched teeth.

They paused their conversation to greet two nobles who lived within the capital. Victor was not sure of what they did. Nor did he care to try to ask or remember in that moment. Yuri said something to them, seeming to know better than Victor. As soon as they departed, heading out onto the ballroom floor, Victor guided his conversation with Yuri back on topic.

“What if something happened though? And it’s preventing him from coming? What if he was injured somehow? Or ambushed by bandits on his return journey?”

They greeted a family of merchants, responsible for the majority of trade with the Lee Kingdom. 

“Will you just wait until everyone arrives before you panic?”

The dean of the schools and her lovely husband.

“But—”

“Victor, seriously, shut up!”

Yuri was right. Anticipation was good, right? The wait would be worth it, right? Victor should focus on what he would do when Yuuri did arrive. What would he say? He had not thought about that. _Hi._ No, that was not good. Too casual. Or maybe too traumatic. Last time he started with _Hi_ and Yuuri had dropped a choux swan. How cute had his expression been though… No, not that. _Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?_ No, that was terrible. Stupid. And corny. Yuuri probably would just groan and roll his beautiful brown eyes, then abandon Victor in exchange for Jean-Jacques. There was a nightmare of an idea if Victor ever had one. _Welcome to my ball_ —No, that was no good. How about _Welcome to your ball—_ No, that was even worse. Victor was hopeless. Maybe Yuuri would say something first and spare him.

“What should I say to him?”

Silk-weavers in intricate gowns. 

“I don’t know, how about ‘I haven’t shut up about you for a single goddamn second in two weeks even though I only met you that one time, will you marry me?’” Yuri suggested sarcastically. Victor thought that sounded pretty close to perfect.

“What if he doesn’t want to marry me? Do you think he’d want to marry me? If he doesn’t come, how am I supposed to find out? How should I ask? …It’s a bit too soon to ask, isn’t it?”

When no response came from his brother, Victor glanced to his side. Yuri had buried his face into his hands entirely and Victor was pretty sure he could hear the blonde growling. 

“Yura?”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Yuri answered, words muffled into his palms. His shoulders were tremoring. Victor knew what was coming. That did not stop him from pushing.

“Yuri, you don’t understand I need to—”

Yuri erupted. He rounded on Victor, jabbing a pointed finger into his brother’s chest, eyes flashing in boiled-over irritation. “No, let me tell you what you need! If you’re actually this stupidly head over heels for this guy, then you need to do something about it. Stop whining and torturing everyone around you with this stupid lovesick bullshit, and just go instead of waiting around hoping by some miracle he’s going to fall into your goddamn lap!”

Victor gazed back at his brother. “But what if he—”

With a shout of frustration, Yuri abandoned his place at Victor’s side, leaving the older prince on his own without another word. Victor watched him go, slightly surprised at the strength of Yuri’s reaction and his words. Had he really been that bad?

No one had ever left such an impression on him before. Yuuri had been something completely unexpected, the most wonderful surprise of Victor’s life, how could he possibly let that go?

Yuri was right though, again. Victor should go. If he really wanted to see Yuuri, he should get over his own hesitation, his fear that Yuuri would not return his feelings, and simply go to him. Run to him. Wait outside the bakery everyday until he could meet Yuuri and know, for sure, if Yuuri felt that same spark that Victor had. 

Victor separated himself from his internal debate when the attendants introducing the guests welcomed two women, and announced the arrival of the artisans from the bakery. _The bakery!_ Victor’s pulse spiked and he took in a deep breath, mind still searching for what he would say because the standard greeting surely would not work—

“Your highness.”

Two respectable feminine voices. Two very pretty women.

No Yuuri.

Victor recognized the redhead. She had come to the palace before, with the bakers for the banquets. The brunette was the same one he had spoken to in the bakery two weeks prior, the one who had told him that Yuuri had left town. They curtseyed respectfully, but Victor could read the worry written across their faces.

“Mila Babicheva and Mari Katsuki, of Yutopia Bakery.” 

The attendant sounded like he was repeating the words, but Victor barely listened. He knew he needed to greet them, thank them for attending, for their loyal service to the royal family and to the kingdom, say the official lines so long committed to memory that Victor did not even have to think about them, but all that came out was, “Where’s Yuuri?”

“My dearest apologies, your highness, but Yuuri could not come,” Mari replied and straightened from her bow. “He sends his condolences and hopes you may understand and forgive his absence.”

Yuuri could not come. Yuuri was not coming. 

The floor gave out from beneath Victor, the last strand of hope keeping him upright snapping and Victor was sent plummeting. What had he done wrong? Or what had he not done right? He had become so entangled in the brief memory of Yuuri, the all too short encounter because never before had anyone made Victor feel so… what? He could not even name the feeling. To call it happiness did it no justice. 

Yuuri had radiated everything splendid about the world in that one short evening. The way he boldly invited Victor to dance, the way his laughter bubbled from his lips, the way he smiled, eyes sparkling. Victor had seen his own reflection in their dark depths. Never had Victor known that he had the ability to laugh so freely, never known such unadulterated joy could exist within him. How could he not wish to lose himself in that, in the person that had brought it on?

“Why… why not?” Victor barely recognized the tremor in his own voice. He had been trying to prepare himself for this, for the hollowness which began to gnaw through him, wickedly cackling that of course Yuuri was not coming. What reason would there have been for Yuuri to feel what Victor had? Yuuri had not danced with only Victor that night. No, Yuuri had drawn everyone into his light. Why should Victor be any different from the others that Yuuri had graced with his brilliance? 

“He wanted to come,” Mila spoke up, dragging Victor out of the abyss of his thoughts and back into the room. “I cannot begin to tell you how much he wanted to come. I think Yuuri probably wanted to be here more than humanly possible, more than everyone here combined but…”

She trailed off and Victor wanted to demand the rest. _But what?_ If it were true, if Yuuri wanted to come, then why didn’t he? Why wasn’t he there now?

“But he couldn’t. I apologize, I can’t explain why, your highness. However… he asked if you might be so kind as to accept this gift from him.” Mila presented a small, plain-looking pastry box and Victor took it from her. His hands trembled slightly as he opened it. 

_He wanted to come._

Yuuri wanted to come. But could not. Something had kept him away, reason be damned, if Yuuri truly wanted to be there then that was enough for Victor.

Inside the box, on a lake of blue, rested not one but two miniature swans. Made of choux and chantilly. A light laugh escaped from Victor’s lips. Masterfully crafted details showed ripples in the lakewater icing beneath them, indicating movement. The delicate necks of the two graceful birds crested forward, their beaks meeting to imitate a courting touch. They were dancing together on the water, entwined in the image of a heart. Victor’s own broke and soared in that moment.

“Where is he?” Victor snapped his face up, determination flaring through him. “Is he there now? At the bakery?!”

“I-… He-… Yes?” Mila stammered back in shock at Victor’s sudden demand. 

“Your highness—”

The words Mari began to speak were cut off by Victor quickly but carefully setting the pastry box into her hands. 

“Hold onto that for me?” Victor asked with a smile. He did not wait for her response.

The exclamation of surprise from the two women and the protest of the nearby attendant were mute to Victor as he sprinted across the ballroom floor.

Yuuri wanted to come, and that was the only thing that mattered.

There was a yelp as Victor raced between a dancing couple, shouting back an apology even though he knew he did not need to. What he needed was Yuuri. Yuuri could not come, but Victor could go to him. He would run across the capital on foot if he had to.

Victor narrowly avoided colliding with an attendant carrying a tray of champagne glasses, ducking to dodge it. 

He sprinted past guests and the musicians playing, past attendants whose eyes followed him in shock, past the noble couple which Victor had greeted earlier.

He only stopped at the base of the stairs which led from the ballroom out to the halls. Because the doors at the top opened before Victor could bolt up to them.

And there he was.

Seeing Yuuri was like taking in air after holding his breath for two weeks. Like seeing the sun break through storm clouds after days of relentless rain. Like flying.

Part of Victor had been afraid that he had let his imagination run too wild whenever he thought of Yuuri. That his mind was playing tricks and that there was no possible way for Yuuri to have been that perfect. That he let infatuation transform Yuuri into a deity that could not be real, and that he would only be disappointed when he finally saw the man he had lifted to such a grand pedestal. 

Victor had not set his expectations high enough. 

Because Yuuri was ethereal before him.

Victor could not move, frozen where he stood, his heart thumping like a jack rabbit’s, and then he laughed when he noticed that Yuuri was not alone. He was being pushed forward through the ballroom doors by Yuri, who was scowling like there was no tomorrow. Yuuri seemed to be protesting weakly and Victor thought he could die at the absurd cuteness of it.

Waiting for him was more than worth it.

“Yuuri!” Victor’s call came out a lot more breathless than he intended. Any oxygen in his lungs was stolen the second that Yuuri’s attention turned from the younger prince, when his enchanting brown eyes met Victor’s.

Yuuri’s movements were fluid as he descended down the stairs, commanding Victor’s attention effortlessly. 

The musicians playing in the ballroom were a string quartet, but Victor swore he heard singing. Pure and exquisite, tugging like a string around his heart and pulling him toward Yuuri. 

The softest of pinks dusted Yuuri’s cheeks as he gazed back at the prince and Victor felt himself falling all over again. When Yuuri reached the final step, he shifted back a fraction of an inch, but Victor reached forward and grasped his hands, stopping him before Yuuri could bow. 

Eyes widening slightly in mild surprise, that soft smile remained on Yuuri’s lips and his hands fit perfectly into Victor’s. Victor marveled at the warmth of Yuuri’s skin against his own, grounding him in the conviction that Yuuri was truly there in front of him. 

“You came…” Nothing else mattered.

“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

Victor had been waiting. However, he would have waited an eternity longer if this was the sight he would be able to behold, of his beautiful Yuuri, glowing with a delicate radiance, so much more than Victor remembered. 

Yuuri’s fingers shifted under his touch and Victor realized that he was staring. He gathered himself, reminded of the goal he had set for the evening. At the banquet, Yuuri had swept Victor into a dance and straight off his feet. That evening, Victor intended to do exactly the same. To make Yuuri fall just as deeply and quickly, so that it would be impossible for him to disappear at the end of the night.

Somewhere behind them, the string quartet started to play the opening notes to a charming waltz. Victor smiled at Yuuri, not even having to try, the action a natural result of how entranced he was. “Yuuri, would you grant me the honor of this dance?”

Yuuri started to pull his hands out of Victor’s and the prince’s breath hitched, but Yuuri only adjusted the position, lacing his fingertips with Victor’s. “I would like nothing more than to dance with you, my prince.”

It took a stupidly long moment for Victor to tear himself from the daze of Yuuri’s smile. Once he did, Victor grasped Yuuri’s hands firmly and swept him out onto the ballroom floor, pulling Yuuri close to him.

The eyes of everyone in the room might have been on them, but Victor saw only Yuuri, amazed at how naturally Yuuri fell into him. Victor already knew that he never wanted to let go as they started to dance, lost to everything but each other.

~~~~~~~

Dancing with Victor was a dream, Yuuri was certain of it.

A gorgeous, flustering dream that Yuuri could not tear himself away from. Left hand caught in Victor’s right, the prince’s arm around his waist, Yuuri followed as the prince led, moving them to the sweet trill of strings. 

Yuuri was drowning in a sea of striking blue eyes that did not leave him for the briefest of moments, but Yuuri held their gaze just as desperately, stealing every moment away for himself. If they danced near any other pair, Yuuri would have never known. Not when he had Victor’s heart-shaped smile before him, affectionate and unfaltering. How long had he dreamed of being able to admire the prince like this, and there he was, handsome beyond judgment, charming beyond measure.

The first dance blended into a second, then a third, the prince not letting go of Yuuri even between the short breaks of music. Instead he kissed Yuuri’s hands, and Yuuri felt like he was floating on air as the prince led him into the next dance. 

The hushed melodies of the compositions began to pick up in tempo, and Yuuri let his first laugh of the evening ring out when the prince spun him, his hand never releasing Yuuri’s. Delight sparkled in the prince’s eyes and his expert guidance made it all too easy for Yuuri to respond naturally to each step, each shift, each turn and sway.

As the music progressed, Yuuri briefly noticed that the other couples following the same dance separated, switching partners with those beside them, but Victor simply whisked Yuuri back into his arms. His practiced steps guided Yuuri in time with the chirping of the instruments, spinning Yuuri round and tugging him in, so his back would meet with the prince’s chest. Victor’s arm looped around his waist and Yuuri melted into him as the prince laced the fingers of their hands together. 

The prince’s breath tickled at the side of Yuuri’s neck, the sensation tingling along with his skin, and Victor whispered to him as he continued to lead them through the steps. “Thank you for coming…”

Yuuri closed his eyes and prayed the dream would still be real when he opened them again. Had they danced like this at the banquet? How could he have possibly forgotten if his heart had sung like this then too?

Victor spun him back around and pulled Yuuri in closer than before, almost flush against him. Yuuri’s heart was dancing alongside them, and he settled a hand on Victor’s chest, smiling when he felt the matching beat of Victor’s. The prince brushed the back of his hand over one of Yuuri’s cheeks and Yuuri tilted his face into the fond caress. There was a hum vibrating through him, overtaking him, flooding him with Victor’s proximity and his endless smile. Was it all right to feel this happy?

“Is this okay?” Victor whispered, his words soft and unassuming.

Yuuri could have laughed at the uncertainty lacing them. “You’re asking me?” Yuuri would stay there, wrapped in Victor’s touch and leaning into the firm lines of his body until the ballroom emptied and the dawn broke. “I would dance with you forever, my prince.”

Victor’s incredible smile grew even wider, and Yuuri almost yelped, laughing when the prince lifted him, twirling them both around in elation.

Yuuri did not know what to think, what to make of it all. He wished he had not turned down the offer to see visions from the banquet, wondering what it was exactly he had done that made the prince gaze at him so fondly, made him chase after Yuuri like he had. However, if the feeling had been anything similar to the warmth bubbling in Yuuri, bathed in joy and wishing that the night would continue on eternally, then he understood.

“I want to ask you so many things, I don’t know where to begin,” the prince said and Yuuri blinked at him.

“Like what?”

“Everything! I want to know everything about you.”

The tinge of excitement was clear in Victor’s voice. Yuuri smiled again. If Victor wanted everything, Yuuri would tell him.

“Do you like dogs?” the prince questioned and Yuuri laughed loudly, his steps faltering, halting their dance. He had to lift a hand to cover his mouth as the laughter spread, rippling through him and spilling from his lips. 

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Victor hustled to follow, eyes widening in concern and it just made Yuuri laugh more.

“N-no… I-… I just wasn’t expecting that to be your first question.” It was so innocent and simple, yet the genuine curiosity was deep. “Yes. Yes, I love dogs.”

“How about poodles?” Victor pressed and Yuuri was having a hard time containing his giggles.

“I adore poodles.”

Victor lit up even more, and the questions poured out of him, one after another. Yuuri answered each of them, watched Victor drink in every one. The prince asked Yuuri anything that seemed to spring to his mind, quickly leaping from one to the next but never interrupting, as if Yuuri’s responses were something to be treasured. 

_Where did you grow up?_ In the capital.

 _How long have you been baking?_ Since he was old enough to kneel on a stool in the kitchen to help his parents.

 _Have you ever been outside the kingdom?_ To buy ingredients he could not always obtain within its borders.

 _Do you have any siblings?_ An older sister, who the prince had met.

“What are your favorite flowers?”

“Roses.” They danced through every question, every answer, but their movements had slowed to a gentle sway. Victor’s hands rested low on Yuuri’s hips, while Yuuri settled his on the prince’s upper arms, both still oblivious to the world around them.

“Why roses?” 

“I always thought that fresh roses smell like raspberries…” Yuuri replied. It was incredible, how Victor’s beautiful lips parted in surprise, how he seemed to find each of Yuuri’s reasons fascinating no matter the simplicity or obscurity. “And because they were the first decoration I learned to make with icing.”

“How about your favorite color?” Victor continued, question after question. 

“Blue… I like blue.”

“Why blue?”

The heat rose in Yuuri’s cheeks, no doubt flushing them pink. Yuuri liked blue for a variety of reasons. Because it was the color of a clear, warm summer sky. Because it was the color of the ocean not far from the capital, where Yuuri liked to sit and allow the sound of the waves to calm him on a bad day. Because it was the color of the morning glories that grew behind the bakery. However, there was one true reason behind Yuuri’s love of the color. And it was right before him. He admitted it before he could think to stop himself, “Because it’s the color of your eyes.”

Victor’s smile grew impossibly. “I didn’t think you would be the type to try such a line, Yuuri.” He kissed both of Yuuri’s hands, mouth burning across his skin, and the teasing tone of his words only lifted Yuuri’s confidence.

“Did it work though?”

“Shamefully so,” Victor admitted and Yuuri could not help but laugh again. He did not need to stop himself though, and did not want to, not with how much the prince smiled every time he did. “Yuuri, I could listen to you laugh forever.”

“I didn’t think you would be the type to try such a line, your highness,” Yuuri responded. He did not have time to consider if the comment might be pushing too much, as he was speaking to a prince, but Victor’s reaction was one of sheer delight.

Victor grasped Yuuri’s hands more firmly in his. “Come with me,” Victor said and tugged Yuuri off the ballroom floor.

Yuuri went with him without hesitation. “Where are we going?”

“We’re sneaking out, shhhh.” Victor held a finger to his own mouth in signal and Yuuri felt his heart palpitate. It was not fair for the prince to be so perfect.

Victor paused briefly to grab a small tray from an attendant, but Yuuri was not paying much attention, too taken in by how Victor still did not let go on his hand and how comforting the contact was. Victor did not stop at the edge of the grand ballroom, leading Yuuri instead out into quiet hallways opposite of the main entranceway.

Following Victor’s quick footsteps, Yuuri could barely admire the halls of the palace before the prince took them out, into the gardens. The chill of the spring night might have sunk into Yuuri’s skin if it was not perpetually warm from having Victor so near. 

Victor led them through the gardens and set the tray he had stolen down on a stone-carved bench almost completely surrounded by azalea bushes, their petals closed and concealed as they slept. 

Yuuri finally noticed the cuts of mille-feuille on the tray, chuckling a little when Victor offered one to him. “My bakery’s pastries were not good enough for you?”

“I did not want to have you in the kitchens tonight, I wanted to dance with you,” Victor said and hummed as he tasted the sweet. “Not nearly as good as yours.”

“How do you know that I make those? I’m not the only one that works in my bakery.”

The way Victor’s eyebrows arched high was endearing. “You don’t?”

Yuuri smiled, caught out in his little lie. “I do.”

“I would bet that you are the one that makes all my favorites,” Victor replied as he sipped from the flute of champagne he had also brought along, offering the second one to Yuuri, but Yuuri shook his head. He wanted no reason to risk forgetting any part of that night, especially when Victor wrapped an arm around his waist again and drew him close. 

“How can you be so sure?” Yuuri questioned.

“Let me guess then,” Victor said, his blue eyes studying how Yuuri’s fingers laced through his own. “There were the most marvelous miniature tiramisu cakes at last year’s banquet.”

“Mine,” Yuuri confirmed, wondering how it was that his face did not hurt from smiling so much. 

“And the butter spritz?”

“Also mine.”

The palace walls were not far from where they stood, and the music of the ballroom carried through the garden, however quietly. Victor seemed to hear it too, because he began to move them in a slow dance to the sound of the strings. “What about the éclairs?”

“I think you must be cheating somehow with your guesses, your highness.”

The prince’s chuckle rumbled richly from deep within his throat. “Okay… oh, how about the zephyrs?”

A mild disappointment flashed within Yuuri. “No, those are Mila’s specialty, I’m afraid…”

The prince’s laugh was unabashedly delighted. “Really?”

“Yes, why?” Yuuri tipped his head curiously.

“Those are my brother’s favorites, not mine.” Victor seemed all too pleased with himself. “All right, one more. What I always look forward to at every event… I think I told Georgi, my dresser, if I ever found out who made those incredible _oreshki_ that I would wed them.”

Yuuri stopped, his gaze focused on the prince. The moonlight shone down onto Victor, bathing him in its silver glow. The lightest breeze ruffled strands of his silken hair, his eyes shimmering like they had since Yuuri first met them. His lips were drawn up into that heart-like smile Yuuri had enjoyed for so long, and here it was before him, _for him_. “That almost sounds like a marriage proposal, my prince,” he teased.

Yuuri could no longer hear the music over the strength of his pulse, beating at twice its normal pace. Victor cupped Yuuri’s face in his hands. “Why didn’t you come to the palace sooner?” Victor whispered, voice low and almost quivering.

“I… I was scared.”

“Why would you be scared, Yuuri?”

For so many reasons. How could Yuuri have known that the prince would be this wonderful. “I’ve… I admired you for a long time, my prince, but… I always thought, if I met you whatever image I had of you in my head, if it wasn’t true… You have always been so wonderful to see from afar, so beautiful, so regal and if you weren’t like that in person, I felt like I would have shattered.”

There was something swimming in Victor’s eyes that Yuuri could not read, but it passed, replaced by a delicate smile.

“Is that why you were so shocked that you dropped the swan?”

“Don’t remind me, please,” Yuuri ducked his face in embarrassment, but the action only meant that his forehead settled on Victor’s shoulder with their proximity. Victor pulled Yuuri further into him in response. “The fact that the first thing you ever said to me was a compliment, and in return I almost dropped that stupid thing on you and shouted at you… I could die.”

Yuuri would never tire of Victor’s laugh, melodic and addicting.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since then. The adorable, flustered, incredible baker who nearly smashed a giant pastry over my feet… What a perfect meeting. It makes me want to never forget a single moment with you.”

Yuuri was not sure at which point in the evening he forgot how to breathe. Maybe it was at the very start, when his eyes first met Victor’s and knew in that moment by how deliberately and brilliantly Victor gazed back at him, that the prince truly had been waiting for no one else but Yuuri. Maybe when Victor pulled him into the first dance, moving them in a breathtaking duet. Maybe when Victor first made him laugh, shocking Yuuri with how easily the joy escaped and how much Victor seemed to love it. Maybe it was with every moment, so surreal and yet grounded by the never-faltering hold of Victor’s hand on his. 

Or maybe it was now, with Victor’s caress at the side of his face again, gentle and adoring. Victor’s fingers mapped Yuuri’s jawline, tilting his face up, and the prince traced at Yuuri’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb, reverent. Just like how he forgot how to breathe, Yuuri’s heart forgot how to beat, dancing instead in a wondrous mix of yearning and anticipation.

“May I kiss you?” 

The request hummed between them, like the short breaths they exchanged, and Yuuri lost all ability to speak, taken in by the shape of Victor’s lips, so close, parted and trembling ever so slightly. All Yuuri wanted was to scream yes, to throw his arms around Victor without waiting and claim the kiss for himself. His pulse raced, words elusive, so Yuuri nodded.

Not far from where they stood, a fountain bubbled merrily, splashing water rhythmic against the barely audible music streaming from the palace. Even with all the flowers of the garden hiding their faces from the night, the subtle fragrance lingered in the cool spring air, a teasing acknowledgement of how striking their displays must be in the daylight. How must the prince look, wandering through their colors, bathed in their sweet scents and alight with the radiance of the beaming sun.

One of Victor’s hands found Yuuri’s again, and the prince brought them up, interlaced, to rest over his heart. His smile, which Yuuri had fallen in love with countless times over the years and the hours of the night, was one of bliss. 

Then, Victor leaned in to close the distance between them.

~~~~~~~

To have Yuuri before him was like a revelation.

The second Victor saw Yuuri, the dam inside him broke and flooded him, carrying him away to where the only thing that made sense was never letting go.

Because Yuuri was wonderful. His eyes enchanted Victor, smile entranced him, laugh left him spellbound. If the Yuuri at the banquet had swept him off his feet, this Yuuri swept him into a fairytale. 

The delight with which Yuuri responded to him, echoing every smile and glance, every timed step, washed away any doubts and hesitation Victor may have had. Not once did Yuuri pull back, not once did he shy away from Victor’s touches and his words. 

Yuuri was beautiful, gazing up at Victor through dark eyelashes which shadowed his brown eyes, so close to him that Victor could feel the whisper of Yuuri’s breath, drawing Victor’s eyes to his lips and the encompassing need to kiss him. 

When Yuuri nodded, Victor wanted to drive right in, plunge his fingers into hair blacker than the night around them, to finally taste the lips he had imagined since they teased his ear at the banquet. But he was also dazed, wanting to cherish the precious moment before their lips met. Victor leaned in, awash in the love and wonder pulsing through him, in having Yuuri against him.

Somewhere behind them, the bell tower tolled. 

Victor swore that Yuuri _glittered_.

In the moment before Victor’s lips could meet his, Yuuri jerked back, his eyes growing wide. Victor started, staring back as the softness of Yuuri’s expression was overtaken by something else entirely. Before Victor could react, Yuuri stepped back out of Victor’s embrace, and Victor could see how his exhales quickened, how Yuuri’s hands began to tremble.

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri took another step back and Victor clutched at his hand, keeping their fingers woven. 

“I’m sorry…” Yuuri’s voice was less than a whisper. “I-… I can’t. I’m sorry, I have to go…”

Then Yuuri was pulling back, away from Victor’s. There was a second of hesitation, but when Victor risked stepping toward him, Yuuri regained himself. 

His fingers slipped from Victor’s.

And he ran.

Stunned, Victor could only watch him go. He could not even call out, crumpling, because Yuuri was gone, disappearing from the gardens and taking Victor’s heart with him yet again. 

Victor sunk down beside the sleeping azaleas, wondering if he had indeed flown too fast toward his sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come shout at me on [tumblr](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com)
> 
> Otherwise, comments are lovely~♡


	8. Until the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll say ahead of time that the best line in this chapter needs to be credited to my beloved [cryingoverspilledvodka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingoverspilledvodka/pseuds/cryingoverspilledvodka). 
> 
> I answer questions about this universe and updates on tumblr, [lucycamui](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com) so feel free to ask anything, anytime!
> 
> Thanks to all my readers who have been supporting this fic so far! I've having a delight of a time with it, and promise lots more fun to come!

The pounding of Yuuri’s heart was threatening to fracture his ribcage. He could not even count the beats, knowing only that each one sent _Victor, Victor, Victor_ drumming through him. His skin still felt flushed from having the prince so near, his breath caressing Yuuri’s lips, half a second away from kissing.

The bell tower had long finished ringing out midnight, but Yuuri stepped out of a carriage and not a cream puff when it stopped in front of the bakery. His hands trembled so badly that they kept slipping on the door handle, and finally the bewitched hamster-turned-driver had to open it for him. 

A thanks barely tremored off his lips, and Yuuri nearly rushed straight to his bedroom, ready to lock himself in it for approximately eternity. However, he caught sight of the personified-hamster's black eyes trained on him and realized his manners. “Oh… ummm, can you talk?”

The bearded hamster-man squeaked in a high-pitched tone and a wave of odd relief flooded Yuuri. “Are you… I don’t know what I should do with you three…” The bakery door was open and Yuuri could see the horse and other gentlemanly hamster waiting out on the street. “…Are you hungry?” 

Another squeak and while Yuuri did not speak magic-hamster, its nose twitched repeatedly as it sniffed at the air.

“Okay, wait just a minute.” Yuuri rushed into the kitchen, coming back with a couple of carrots and a loaf of bread loaded with pieces of fruit. “The carrots for the…umm, the horse? And you and the other… one… can share the bread?” 

The hamster grabbed the food with an excited squeak and rushed back out, him and the other feeding the carrots to the horse before furiously tearing into the bread. 

Watching them for a moment, amused, Yuuri then glanced down at himself. He was still in the fine formal wear which shimmered subtly as he moved, not back in his flour-ridden apron. The mother-of-pearl decorating the carriage outside reflected moonlight, and the hamsters were still very much human-like, the horse whinnying quietly as it shuffled.

Yuuri had counted the twelve tolls of the bell as he fled from the gardens, afraid he would rush from the palace grounds to find a cream puff being gnawed at by tiny hamsters, but no… That magic had lingered long after Yuuri ran from the prince.

And the prince… the prince had not lived up to Yuuri’s daydreams. He had shattered them completely. 

Yuuri slumped against the bakery’s doorframe. If he closed his eyes, the strings of the ballroom played in his ears again, mixing with the melody of Victor’s laugh. There was the assuring pressure of Victor’s arm around Yuuri’s waist as the prince led Yuuri through dance after dance, holding Yuuri all too willing a prisoner with the sparkle in his unbelievably blue eyes. He still felt the warmth of Victor’s fingers laced with Yuuri’s, could still see the joy in his smile. 

Yuuri’s heart started drumming a different sort of pattern, more in sync with a waltz than the pattern of anxiety. The prince had been… everything.

_Run back to him._

He could. Maybe it was not too late. Run straight back into the delight that had been Victor’s embrace and claim that kiss, allow his jitters to be erased by the sure magic of the prince’s lips. Lose himself into the firm lines of Victor’s body and scandalize the sleeping azaleas surrounding them. 

_Yes, exactly like that. Go!_

He couldn’t. How could he? What explanation could he give to abandoning the prince so suddenly, after dancing with him all night, after agreeing to kiss him only to pull away at the last moment?

_It won’t matter, he’ll forgive you, just go. You saw how head-over-heels he was!_

How true was that though… Yuuri had seen his own reflection in the affection behind Victor’s eyes. And that was not him. He had apparently stolen the prince’s heart while so drunk off champagne that he could not remember how he had done it, and he had stolen that night as well, under the guise of an appearance that was not really his own and confidence that had to be spelled onto him.

_Goddamnit, Yuuri, this is exactly why no one else wanted to take your case!!_

Yuuri went rigid as that thought flew through his mind in a voice that was certainly not his own. “…Phichit?”

The baker was quite proud of himself for not jumping out of his skin when the fairy materialized beside him in a burst of glitter. 

“Busted! I’m supposed to be getting better at this whole thought-whispering thing, not worse,” Phichit grumbled to himself before beaming at Yuuri. “Hi!”

“Hi?” Yuuri returned weakly, wondering if his fairy godperson appearing with eruptions of glitter was going to become a regular occurrence.

“Soooooo, how did the ball go?” Phichit asked in a way that was not as nonchalant as he was trying to make it seem, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“It went okay?” Yuuri tried, rubbing a hand over a forearm, the silken feel of the ball attire fabric not doing much to calm his jittering. “Uhhh, pretty good?”

“Oh, it went pretty good, did it?” Phichit questioned with a flick of his wrist. From the corner of his eye, Yuuri could see that the carriage shrunk down and changed back into a cream puff. “And how was the prince, hmm?”

“He was…” Yuuri could not produce a word capable of accurately describing the prince. Nothing came close to encompassing all that was Victor, “…nice?”

“Just nice?” Another flick of the wrist and the three hamsters returned to their itty-bitty adorable forms. “Is that all you really have to say about him?”

No, it wasn’t. Yuuri could probably sing his praises until the sun rose, but knew if he did, the heaviness in his chest would grow, weighing him down, reminding him that Yuuri had once again fled from what he truly wanted but was too scared to leap for. “He was…”

“He was?” Phichit pressed, as if he could not tell what Yuuri was thinking.

“Incredible…” The word left Yuuri’s mouth like a prayer. 

“Incredible, huh?” Phichit examined his fingernails, rubbing his thumb over them in a polishing action, before he casually lifted his dark gaze back to focus on Yuuri. “So, if the prince was so _incredible_ , how come you’re back here and not there, _making out with him in the garden?!_ ”

Instantly, Yuuri’s face felt like it was on fire. “That’s… not… we-… we weren’t… making out…”

“Yeah, you weren’t making out, because you didn’t give it a chance to get there, did you?! Why didn’t you kiss him, Yuuri?!” Phichit flapped his arms in question, glitter flowing off his clothes with the motions. 

“I-… he hesitated!” Yuuri replied, wrapping his arms around himself. “He asked but then he stopped and just looked at me and… what was I supposed to do, just kiss the prince myself!?”

“Yes!” Phichit cried. 

“I couldn’t do that!” Yuuri answered, shaking his head. “And why did he hesitate, maybe he changed his mind and he didn’t even want to kiss me! Maybe he was just going to—”

“What, clean glitter off your face with his mouth?!”

“Exactly!” Yuuri could see himself trembling, clenching his fingers in the material of his attire which felt so foreign to him now. “The only reason I was even there was because of your glitter! He was not going to kiss me, he was going to kiss whatever magic-version of me you created!” Realizing how raised his voice was, Yuuri took in a deep breath and dropped the volume before continuing. “I don’t… I don’t dance with princes in a room full of a hundred other people, or drop lines about how my favorite color is that of his eyes, who even says those kinds of things?!” 

“You do, Yuuri, when you let yourself have an ounce of confidence in yourself!” Phichit answered, his expression almost pained.

“I couldn’t even bring myself to go to the palace on my own without you pushing me!” Yuuri argued back. “I had to get drunk off my ass just to talk to him the first time.”

“Okay, so you’re not perfect but you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Phichit protested. “The champagne, my spell, none of that changed who you are, all it did was show you what you can do if you just stop overthinking everything. Aaaaaand, you’re forgetting that when you first met the prince, you were neither drunk nor under any sort of magic influence, and you still managed to capture his attention!”

Yuuri opened his mouth to argue but had nothing to say to counter that statement, because it was true. So he shut it, dropping his arms, fingers instead playing with the hem of his clothing. “…The swan captured his attention.”

Phichit very visibly rolled his eyes. “Let me tell you something, Yuuri. The prince hardly noticed the swan. He was watching you the whole time, not it.”

How was Yuuri supposed to be certain about that? He had not even seen the prince standing behind him when he had finished it, then not dared to look as he had fixed it after that fateful drop, trying hard to ignore the strength of those blue eyes on him.

“Why did you make the swan in the first place?”

“Because I thought the prince might like it…” It was what had sent excitement and anticipation fluttering through him before each banquet, the thought that the prince might like what Yuuri had created for him. And every year, when the praises came back from the palace, Yuuri always buzzed with the faintest sense of pride. 

“And why did you make those two little ones this afternoon for him?”

“Because I thought the prince might like them…” The prince had looked so delighted at seeing the original swan in the kitchens. And the part of Yuuri that held out hope had not wanted the prince to think Yuuri was rejecting him by not going to the ball, but that Victor might understand through them that dancing with him was something Yuuri _did_ want. 

“And when you did fix that swan after you dropped it—without an ounce of alcohol or glitter to help you I might add—what did the prince say to you?”

It may have been a couple weeks ago, but Yuuri would never forget the words. “…He said I was incredible.”

“Yes, incredible!” Phichit exclaimed, throwing his arms up in emphasis. “Exactly how you described him to me a few minutes ago. He _likes_ you, Yuuri!”

“Why?” Yuuri questioned softly. “For what? What would the prince have to like me for… my pastries?”

“Well, how do you expect to find that out if you _keep running from him?!_ ” Phichit stressed each of the final syllables. 

With a resigned sigh, Yuuri moved into the bakery, pacing back and forth across the floor. For a moment, he wondered how he might look if someone else came in right then, if they would see Phichit or if he would appear to be talking to himself. Phichit was right though. He would never be certain if he simply kept running instead of allowing the prince to see Yuuri for who he really was. Maybe the prince would realize his mistake, that his infatuation was misplaced on someone that did not really exist, but then at least Yuuri would not be left wondering.

“…How come that was the only spell that wore off?” Yuuri’s shoulders went slack and any fight left in him faded. If Phichit’s spell had lasted just a minute longer, would Yuuri have been able to stay, captured by the prince’s lips pressed sweetly against his own, able to let go of the apprehensions masked by magic. 

Or would he have done exactly the same if midnight hit right after they kissed. Felt the prickle of his nerves crawling up his spine to infect what should have been a scene of them wrapped in each other’s embrace, bathed in the aroma of sleeping flowers and illuminated by the moon, exchanging breathless sighs, both at a loss for the words to convey that feeling pounding through their chests, their hearts, their souls, until they simply sank into another kiss. Yuuri would have surely still broken away with the toll of the bell, and how much more torn would he be, leaving the prince immediately after their first kiss, unable to explain why… 

“The carriage, the hamsters, my clothes… it all stayed. How come that was the only spell that faded?” Everything else, he could have gone without, but the ability to shrug off his own self-doubts…

“Oh, Yuuri.” Phichit glided forward and took Yuuri’s hands in his, squeezing them gently. As he did, the ball outfit Yuuri wore vanished, replaced by Yuuri’s messy work clothing. 

“Making things, transforming cream puffs into carriages, or aprons into tailored fabrics… that’s easy. Simple tricks. Hardly takes a thought... But, taking someone who normally doesn’t believe in themselves and granting them confidence to do what they’ve always dreamed of? That’s real magic… That’s why it faded away. It’s not just something I can sprinkle you with and make last, licensed or not. You have to maintain that kind of magic on your own.”

“Then…” Yuuri did not know what to do. Even if he returned to the palace, how could he face the prince and make him understand, defend all his actions up until then? The prince had been a dream come to life, treating Yuuri like a treasure, and Yuuri had abandoned him with barely a whispered apology. “How am I supposed to face him on my own? I can’t even think straight around him.”

Phichit smirked. “Honestly, he can’t really think straight around you either, so you should not worry too much about that. I have it on good authority that the prince finds a flustered Yuuri quite charming.” Phichit winked and Yuuri had no response to give to that. “But Yuuri, you know how I said I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to? That holds true for that spell I cast on you tonight as well. That magic wouldn’t be able to help you do anything that you would not be able to do on your own, if you let yourself.”

Yuuri leaned back against the shop counter, considering the words and wondering how much he should take them to heart. “What would I say to him, Phichit? How would I apologize?”

“You could just kiss him.” Phichit smiled brightly, and Yuuri was grateful for the laugh the comment managed to tear from him. “Or you could tell him the truth?”

“That a fairy cast a magic spell on me and convinced me to go to the ball?”

“No, that you were scared that it was too much, too fast,” Phichit replied and Yuuri did have to admit that was reasonable. “Listen, Yuuri, you agreed to go to the ball on your own. You wanted to go, but were holding yourself back. You were going to go whether I gave you that last burst of confidence or not, and maybe it was actually my mistake for giving it to you. But you went, you met the prince properly, like you’ve always wanted to, and as far as I can tell, you had the night of your life. And your feelings for him haven’t changed, right?”

Yuuri nodded slowly. His feelings had not changed, the roots of them only growing deeper into Yuuri’s foundation. “So what, tomorrow I walk up to the palace gates and hope he’ll want to see me after I ran off on him yet again? If my count is correct, that’s the third time. He has to have the patience of a saint…”

“That’s one way of doing it,” Phichit answered. “Like I said, I can’t make you do anything, but you need to decide on something. Go there, write a letter, wait for him to come to you—yes he will come to you, don’t even try to argue with me on that—but just know that the prince _likes_ you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. _You_ stole his heart, not anyone else.”

“Just drunk or glittering me?” Yuuri asked.

“Still you!” Phichit chirped. “You gave yourself a chance tonight, and objectively speaking, it went really well. So give yourself another. I’m not saying go to him right at this moment. But do you really want to give up now?”

Yuuri allowed a small smile to pull itself across his lips. He did not want to give up. Not when the prince had been everything and more. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to dance in his arms again. “Can I ask, why are you helping me? I mean… I know you said the thing about your license but… why me? You said no one else wanted my… case?”

“Oh, that well.” Phichit glanced around the room like he expected to see someone else there and then held up a finger to his lips to indicate a secret. “Fairies need to get their energy from somewhere, right? So, we help out the world a little and the world helps us back.”

“Through frustratingly stubborn bakers?” Yuuri inquired, not hiding the doubt in his voice. 

Phichit laughed at that, shaking his head. Yuuri noticed that no glitter came flying off strands of his dark hair that time around. “No. Well, in your case, yes, hopefully. We get it from happiness! And love. And that doesn’t always come without a struggle, does it? Some of us are just willing to work a little harder than others.” He winked at Yuuri, who just blushed again in response. 

“Anyway, you still owe me big time for getting you to that ball, so don’t disappoint me, Yuuri. Believe me when I say you don’t want an angry fairy coming after you. I can do a lot more than whisper.” Narrowing his eyes threateningly at Yuuri, Phichit then broke into another wide and brilliant smile, the faint outline of his blue wings briefly visible as he fluttered them. “Promise me you’ll do something? He’s been chasing after you this whole time, maybe it’s about time you return the favor?”

Swallowing his lingering apprehensions, Yuuri nodded shortly. 

Phichit responded by clapping his hands, bursting with glitter once more. “Yes! License, here I come! _And they said I was a long shot, this will show them._ Okay, Yuuri, I’ll let you get your rest, but remember what I said. The prince likes you, you like the prince, ergo, a garden setting make-out session should be happening sometime in the foreseeable future, yeah?”

“Ummm…” Yuuri hesitated to respond, his gaze focused past the still open bakery door, out on the street. 

“Yeaaaaaah?” Phichit prompted expectantly. 

“Phichit, your hamsters…” Yuuri pointed at the ground just outside the door.

A blank look swept across the fairy’s normally very expressive face and then he turned to follow Yuuri’s direction, letting out a shriek when he saw his three hamsters finishing off the no-longer-a-carriage cream puff, cheeks stuffed with choux and their twitching whiskers coated in remnants of chantilly. 

Two clouds of glitter erupted, one in the bakery and another in the street as Phichit transported himself the short distance, gathering the three hamsters in his palms before scolding them. “Bad hamsters! You don’t eat things that don’t belong to you, did you even ask Yuuri for that, it wasn’t yours to devour!!”

Three sets of not-at-all guilty eyes gazed up at Yuuri, who could only laugh at their twitching noses, adorable faces smeared with white bits of cream. “It’s okay, not like I could sell that.”

Phichit scowled nonetheless, muttering warnings to the hamsters, who scrambled over the others to avoid his pointing, accusing finger. They licked each other’s cheeks clean, and Yuuri saw Phichit visibly melt and begin cooing instead before tucking them back into an invisible pocket. The fairy then noticed Yuuri’s eyes on him, and cleared his throat, adjusting himself like he did when he had first appeared before Yuuri at the beginning of the evening. “Good night, Yuuri! Remember what I said!”

Yuuri was not entirely sure which part of Phichit’s rants he was supposed to remember, so he chanced that it was all of them. “Thank you, Phichit…”

“Don’t make me come back for you. I’m already breaking enough rules as it is!” With those words and a final wink, the fairy disappeared from the bakery in another flash of glitter, which vanished from the air almost as quickly as he had. 

Shutting the bakery door, Yuuri then quietly made his way into the adjoining house, unable to stop the smile tugging itself across his lips. In his bedroom, he exchanged his messy clothes for sleepwear and slipped into bed. 

With a pillow pulled tightly to his chest, Yuuri buried his face into it, his thoughts straying to Victor. Against the black of his eyelids, he could still feel himself dancing as he let himself sink into sleep, his mind humming not with nerves but the lulling of string instruments and a sense of happiness.

~~~~~~~

“Is he still wailing?”

“Not wailing, just whining.”

“Pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic, your highness, it’s love.”

“I rest my case.”

Victor jumped when a solid kick connected with the frame of his bed, followed by a loud shout from his brother. “Seriously, Victor, this is embarrassing! You need to get yourself together. You’re the crown prince, not some heart-wrecked damsel in a badly written romance novel, so why don’t you act like it?”

“But I am heart-wrecked, Yura. You saw him tonight too. Can you blame me?” Victor nestled himself further into the pillows of his bed, Makkachin having long abandoned his dramatic need for suffocating hugs. 

“Yeah, I did. I saw him arrive late and almost leave because the stupid idiot didn’t bring his invitation, and _then_ I saw him dump your sorry love-sick ass for us to deal with!” Yuri snapped and dropped heavily into the ornate chair in front of the vanity. 

Victor cracked open an eye when Georgi sympathetically patted his thigh and moved away to take down the younger prince’s braids. 

“Take a hint, this is the _third_ time that cream puff has run out on you.”

Victor hugged a pillow so tightly he thought he heard the stitching pop. “Why are you calling him cream puff?”

Yuri scowled at Victor for ignoring the rest of his assertions. “Because he’s a baker and the carriage he showed up in looked weirdly like a cream puff.”

“His carriage looked like a cream puff? That’s adorable…” Victor smiled softly to himself, wishing he had been at the palace gates to watch Yuuri stepping out of it. What a vision he must have been… Victor still could not get the images of Yuuri coming down the staircase out of his head. Black hair brushed back, body expertly framed by his ball attire, dark eyes focusing on nothing but Victor, lips drawn up into the most breathtaking smile. “What color was it? Did he look excited? Nervous? Annoyed? Happy? Did he mention me?”

“You’re not listening!” Yuri snapped again, jerking out of Georgi’s hands to grab a cushion off the floor. Georgi yelped in protest, muttering a warning to the blonde about being careful not to pull out his hair.

Yuri paid no attention, chucking the cushion at Victor, who easily caught it and clenched it to his chest as well, sighing. “It was my fault, I probably scared him off. I tried kissing him too quickly. Or maybe not quickly enough. I should have kissed him sooner. Do you think I waited too long? Or was it too fast? It was too fast, wasn’t it? That’s why he said he couldn’t…”

The blonde prince looked very much like he regretted throwing the cushion because it meant he had nothing to bite into in frustration. “You had the whole damn night, why didn’t you ask him what he wanted?!”

There was a long pause and then Victor sat up, knees sinking heavily into the piles of pillows surrounding him. “You’re right, Yura! I should go ask him!” He leapt from the bed, but was stopped before he reached the doorway by his brother seizing onto the back of his collar. 

“It’s the middle the goddamn night, you really think showing up on his doorstep now is going to be seen as some grand romantic gesture?! After he ran away when you tried to kiss him?!” Yuri growled and shoved Victor back into the room. “That’s weird, Victor, and you’re wondering why he doesn’t seem to want to stick around for very long!”

The older prince settled down, sitting of the edge of the bed with a weighed sigh, eyes downcast. Taking pity, Makkachin padded back over to rest his muzzle in Victor’s lap. “Georgi… what should I do?”

The dresser returned with a half-smile, watching the silver-haired prince thread his fingers through his poodle’s fur. “Let’s consider this carefully, my prince. He did come to the ball.”

“He did,” Victor confirmed.

“And he did dance only with you.”

“He did.”

“Did he express his feeling toward you in any other way?” Georgi questioned.

Victor gazed down at Makkachin, thoughts drifting to Yuuri’s far too pretty laughter as he told Victor that he liked dogs and _adored_ poodles. Makkachin would adore Yuuri in return. “He said he had been scared to meet me because he was afraid he would be disappointed.” 

“I would hardly say he was disappointed seeing as the two of you couldn’t tear yourselves away from each other for a single second the entire night.” Georgi smiled reassuringly.

“I want him to know that I’m not disappointed either,” Victor replied quietly. “Well… maybe a little.” Because he had really, _really_ wanted to kiss Yuuri. Still did. Maybe if he had, they would still be dancing in the gardens. Or, instead of multitudes of cushions, it could be Yuuri that Victor embraced in his bed that night. “But I want him to know that I would wait for him forever if I need to.”

“Why don’t you just write him a fucking love letter?” Yuri grumbled from the vanity, undoing his own braids in the mirror as Georgi’s attention was back on his brother. 

Georgi’s and Victor’s eyes both went wide. They exchanged quick, matching looks. Yuri swore. 

“Georgi!”

“Already on my way to fetch the parchment, your highness!”

~~~~~~~

Yuuri normally had to force himself out of bed before dawn to start preparing the bakery for the day’s work. On more occasions that he would ever admit, he had purposefully rolled himself off the edge of the bed and onto the floor as there would have been no other way to get himself up.

That morning, he allowed himself to block the sunlight spilling onto his face with his blankets. He wanted to grasp onto fading dreams of dancing with the prince at a ball, so close and feeling so wrapped up in a warmth like love. The music played almost like a memory and Yuuri swore if he kept his eyes closed long enough, maybe the dream would continue until he could finally taste the sweetness of Victor’s lips on his own. Victor’s heart-like smile was right before him. Since when had dreams been so vivid?

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri blocked out the call of his name through the highly effective method of placing a pillow over his head and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He wanted to stay in the dream where Victor’s blue eyes saw only him.

“Yuuri, I know you’re in there, get out here!” Mila’s voice penetrated through the bedroom door.

Yuuri tugged the blanket over his head as well, swearing he could feel the silk of Victor’s hair between his fingers. 

“Yuuri, open the door!”

If Yuuri ignored her, maybe she would go away. Go away and leave him with the pull of Victor’s arms around his waist, Victor’s chest pressed against his own. 

“I’m coming in Yuuri, so I hope you’re decent!”

The dream of Victor about to kiss Yuuri was torn from him by Mila barging in and tearing the blankets off him, lifting him out of the bed like it was nothing for her. “Oh good, you’re dressed,” she remarked before pushing him out the door.

Yuuri did his best not to stumble down the stairs as he stumbled on questions, which choked to an utter halt in his throat the second he was faced by the condition of the living room. Which did not look like a living room. At least no living room that Yuuri had ever been in.

The usually open expanse was filled nearly to the brim with… well, as far as Yuuri could tell, a little bit of everything. There were boxes wrapped with embroidered fabrics in colors Yuuri never knew existed, woven baskets overflowing with all manners of exotic dried fruits, bouquets of what seemed to be every sort of blossoming spring flower imaginable, dyed silks, gilded music boxes, and a marble bust, to name only a few.

“Wha-… what is all this?” Yuuri managed as Mila positively _giggled_ beside him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Yuuri, why don’t you tell me what you did last night after Mari and I left for the ball?” Mila did nothing to hide her glee, wearing it proudly.

“I… ummm, I think I-…” _It wasn’t a dream?_

“You can try to deny it all you want, Mr. Very Fashionably Late, but don’t think you can actually pretend it wasn’t you we saw dancing with the prince all night,” she grinned and then stepped over an ornate poodle statute in an attempt to work her way across the room. 

_It wasn’t a dream._ “These are all…”

“They’ve been arriving since dawn,” Mari barked as she peeked into the living room from the hall connecting their home to the bakery. “Mom and Dad have finally managed to convince the palace couriers to stop bringing things.”

Yuuri was a fish out of water, his mouth hanging open and jaw moving but no sounds came out. It took several attempts to regain his voice. “From the prince?” he finally managed.

“Who else?” Mari arched her eyebrows. “You must be quite the dancer, little brother.”’

“Yuuri, look, there are chocolates from the Giacometti kingdom!” Mila exclaimed, happily holding up a stunningly expensive looking box of the imported sweets. “These are, like, _impossible_ to get!”

“We can’t keep all this!” Yuuri objected, eyes sweeping around the immense number of gifts, all supposedly for _him_ , from _the prince_. His limbs felt weak.

“You want to send presents back to the prince?” Mari clarified with a curt laugh. “Really?”

“Would that be all that bad?” Yuuri rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to process all the information at once. _It wasn’t a dream._

Mari shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, I get it. I wouldn’t want the pressure of all this either, but unless you’re planning on rejecting him outright, you should keep some of them.”

With a considerate nod, Yuuri breathed in deeply and glanced around the room, at the enormous variety of gifts stacked throughout. “Just the things we can use for the bakery. I can accept those,” he decided after a long moment. 

Mila clutched the chocolates to her chest, while Mari reached across a large crystal vase to pluck up a container of tobacco stamped as having come from the Crispino kingdom. 

“Fine,” Yuuri replied to their silent pleas. “Those and the things we can use for the bakery.” He then pointed to the marble bust in the corner, “and that.”

It took a bit of convincing (and a fair bit of bribing on Mari’s part) to get the couriers to agree to transport the gifts back to the palace, but eventually each bow-tied box and trinket was being carefully carried from their home. Yuuri let out a soft sigh of relief as the room steadily emptied to the point where it was possible to walk through it again, only to be handed an envelope by a steel-faced palace attendant. 

The same elegant lettering which had signed Yuuri’s name on the ball invitation spelled it out now. With only a slight tremor in his fingers, Yuuri opened the envelope and lifted out carefully folded parchment, his heart jumping as his eyes settled on the first line.

_“My darling Yuuri~♡”_

Yuuri yelped at Mila’s voice purring teasingly against his ear and he crumpled the pages against his chest to protect them from her preying eyes, glaring at her amused smile before shuffling off to read it in private. 

His pulse skipped haphazardly with each elegantly scripted word with which the prince wrote apologies for if Yuuri had felt like Victor pushed on him too much, spoke overtly fondly of their dances together, explained how he hoped the gifts were not too much but not too few, and stated that all he wished was for Yuuri to grant them a chance to see one another again, when he was ready. 

At the bottom, Victor’s signature looped into a simplistically beautiful and unbroken lineart of two tiny swans with their necks craned into a heart, in imitation of those in the pastry box Yuuri had asked Mila to give to the prince the previous evening.

Yuuri managed to catch the last courier heading back out to the palace and, with flushed cheeks, handed the man a significantly more plain envelope, whispering the request for it to be delivered to Prince Victor, if possible.

~~~~~

_“My dearest prince…”_

With a happy exclamation, Victor waved off the information that Yuuri had asked almost all of the gifts to be returned, instead simply pressing his lips to the letter.

The next moment, he found himself kissing a different set of pages, as his brother shoved his face down into the new trade treaty proposal he was supposed to be reviewing.

As soon as Yuri was distracted by his own work, Victor quickly scrawled out a response, then crumpled it up and tossed it aside in favor of taking his time so that Yuuri would only have to read the best of his handwriting. 

It earned him a kick to the shin, but it was worth it.

~~~~~~~

In every letter the prince sent for the next week, he requested Yuuri tell him when they could finally see each other, but asserted that he would wait as long as Yuuri desired, as long as Yuuri’s letters kept coming to fill his heart.

On the seventh day, Yuuri finally let out a long and controlled exhale, and wrote in shockingly steady print, _My prince, I do truly wish to meet with you again…_

The following morning, Yuuri descended from his bedroom to the bakery later than usual, shaking from the apprehension of what Victor’s response might be.

No letter sat waiting for him atop the bakery counter.

Instead, in its place, sat Victor, bright like the morning sun as he chatted with an equally delighted-looking Mila.

“Yuuri!”

The prince was in his bakery. Smiling, stunning, and waving at Yuuri.

Yuuri was grateful that he had no swan to drop.


	9. All Through the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, this fic has reached 850 subscribers and I wanted to thank everyone who has left kudos, commented, or passed it along to others. I'm honored. 
> 
> There's still quite a bit of the story to go, plenty of fairytale left, but we'll be moving away from the Cinderella plotline now that the prince has found his baker into something more original but hopefully just as fun ^_~ I do hope you'll continue to enjoy it with me

In the letters they exchanged over the course of the week, they wrote of everything and nothing.

Yuuri’s first letter to the prince had been quite short, as he was unsure of what to say and how to say it. What did one write of to a prince? Yuuri scripted his apology for his sudden departure from the ball, thanked Victor graciously for their evening together, and said that he did wish they might have greeted the dawn together. He trailed off there, not knowing what kind of excuse he could give without making himself look a fool in the prince’s eyes.

The prince’s response had come not the following day, but at dusk, and in it he dismissed Yuuri’s apology, reasserting his own for being too forward. Yuuri almost argued back before realizing the exchange may carry on endlessly if he persisted. Instead, he answered with his repeated gratitude for the invitation. Then, with a blush on his cheeks, wrote that he had dreamed of their dances together and awoke unable to believe it had all been real.

The blush doubled when the prince’s elegant writing read out that Victor had dreamt of the same, but that he had been awoken by the violent squirming of his dog attempting to escape Victor’s mid-dream clutches. 

The mental image made Yuuri laugh and he told Victor that, then was reduced to a fit of giggles when the next letter included an illustration of exactly the scene. Half of the page was taken up by a sketch of the prince clinging to an adorably irritated-looking poodle. 

Warmth bloomed in Yuuri’s chest and only grew when each subsequent letter contained more drawings. Mainly consisting of Makkachin, some life-like, others miniaturized and caricatured. On others, Victor drew the azaleas of the garden, with petals opened and faces angled toward an undepicted sun, with a line underneath expressing his desire for Yuuri to see how beautiful they were in the day. Through each one, Yuuri learned the prince was an immensely talented artist, and also of his humor.

When Victor asked why Yuuri kept so few of his gifts, Yuuri insisted that it was far too much and that he did not even begin to deserve such finery. In the next letter, the prince told Yuuri a story about how for his brother’s fifteenth birthday, he had the blonde’s study filled with hundreds of toy tigers and how, admittedly, _that_ might have been too much. Included after the story was an illustrated cartoon of the younger prince buried under a mountain of tumbling tiger toys, only flailing arms visible beneath them. Yuuri laughed so much that tears stung at the corners of his eyes. That night, he fell asleep rereading the letter, a smile on his lips as he held the pages to his heart.

Butterflies erupted in Yuuri’s stomach anytime the door bell jingled, hoping it meant another letter from the prince as they exchanged them multiple times each day. 

Victor continued to ask Yuuri all manners of questions, letting them flow through ink just as excited as they had fallen from his lips at the ball. He asked about the kinds of things that Yuuri liked to do in his spare time. About where Yuuri had traveled and where he would like to go in the future. He asked about what Yuuri liked to buy for himself as treats, and if there was anything that Yuuri was not fond of. 

The prince interlaced his own stories to prompt the exchanges and always answered to Yuuri’s with delight. It was easy enough to see when Victor got excited as he wrote, his pristine handwriting growing messy in its haste, but Yuuri found it charming. He allowed himself to pour out his own words in reply, flooding page after page. For the first time, Yuuri woke up early and went to bed late for a reason other than baking, lost in reading and writing responses.

Yuuri told the prince about the few places he had visited outside of the capital, wondering what it may be like to travel with the prince. Long coach rides filled with listening to the prince recite his amusing stories until Yuuri dozed off on his shoulder, lulled by the sound of his voice. Drinking plum wine on the porch of a traditional inn beneath twinkling starlight in the Lee kingdom, or enjoying the heavy white blankets of snow coating the alps which created the border between the Giacometti and Crispino kingdoms. 

Yuuri wrote to the prince about things he had never told anyone before, like the fact that he wanted to write a book of recipes, perhaps even two. The first containing simple breads and pastries that anyone could make with a little bit of effort, the second brimming with the kinds of fantastic desserts Yuuri normally reserved for the palace. Victor replied with lots of exclamation points, and Yuuri could practically hear his encouragements flowing off the page. 

When the prince asked for more details, Yuuri drew him some sketches of tarts loaded with fruit and palm-sized chocolate cakes filled with hazelnuts. Although his artwork was nowhere near the prince’s level in skill, Victor insisted they looked good enough to eat right off the page. The compliments Victor paid him were always flowery and perhaps exaggerated, but they made Yuuri wish he could make the pastries for the prince right then, preset them to him fresh and glistening, watch that heart-shaped smile bloom across the prince’s handsome face at the taste. 

Yet Yuuri was scared that if he saw the prince again, the wonderful letters would stop. That the prince would see how plain Yuuri was, not clad in shimmering ball attire, a simple dime-a-dozen baker living humbly in the capital like so many others. 

Each letter Yuuri received sent a pulse through him. The prince’s sweet words and silly stories, his beautiful and ridiculous drawings, how he wrote Yuuri’s name on each one with handwriting brimming in affection, until Yuuri broke down, unable to resist any longer.

Because with each letter, Yuuri found himself deeper and deeper in the fantasy Victor wove through his compliments, his heartfelt lines about how he could only be happier if he were able to grasp Yuuri’s hands in his own once more. By waiting Yuuri would only make the pain of rejection that much worse, so he decided that at least he wished to have the privilege of being in the prince’s presence one final time while not drowned in alcohol or dazed by magic.

_My prince, I do truly wish to meet with you again._

Yuuri had expected a letter to come back, with the prince’s flawless handwriting asking him—it still struck Yuuri that the prince always asked—when they could arrange for Yuuri to come up to the palace. At an arranged time, arranged date, arranged room in the palace. A formally set meeting, one that Yuuri could fret over and worriedly consider asking the prince to put off at the last minute because Yuuri would not be able to bring himself to go after all.

Except Victor did not give Yuuri that chance. This time, he did not ask. He did not arrange a formal meeting. He did not send back a letter. Instead he sat, right before Yuuri’s eyes, brightening the room with his smile like the first rays of dawn.

Yuuri blinked. And blinked again, trying to process that _the prince was in his bakery._ He had to mentally repeat the statement just to process it. _The prince was in his bakery._

“Yuuri!”

His voice rang clear, filling Yuuri with its delighted chime—

“Good morning!”

—and Yuuri felt like bubbling over. The prince was _here_ , in the bakery, like Yuuri had always imagined. Smiling as if he had never been happier, his blues eyes sparkling at Yuuri and— 

“Why are you here?!” The shock slipped out before Yuuri could register it. 

Victor’s smile faltered. “You said you wanted to see me,” he stated, flat and obvious, and a little hurt. “Didn’t you?”

One day, Yuuri would learn how to answer such simple questions without stammering. Today was not that day. “Y-yes, I did but-…” They were not supposed to meet like this, so far from the palace and so close to reality, in Yuuri’s bakery, in his home. “You weren’t… why didn’t you-…” Yuuri fought for words that could convey every paralyzing worry and ecstatic wave of celebration battling inside him. “…You’re here…”

At those words, Victor was on his feet and in front of Yuuri, reaching to take hold of the baker’s hands, but Yuuri took an instinctive step back. His mind was racing, nerves drilling at every pulse point. 

“I wanted to see you.”

How could the prince speak so gently, voice laced in care. He did not reach for Yuuri again, holding himself in place. “I couldn’t wait any longer after your letter, and I thought you might like the surprise? I would have brought Makkachin too, he wants to meet you, but you’ll have to forgive his old bones. I don’t know if he could have made the walk.”

A thousand thoughts fired off inside Yuuri and sent him crashing. His mind was telling him to make a break for it, while his heart cried out to throw himself into Victor’s arms right then and there. Then the words hit. “You… you walked here?”

Victor’s expression turned sheepish. “It may be the case that I did not want anyone to know where I was going. Some plans may have to be rearranged. But I didn’t want to wait and have you change your mind about seeing me.”

The prince was in Yuuri’s bakery. Not only that, but the prince, _the prince,_ had walked from the palace because Yuuri wrote a single line expressing his desire for them to meet again. Yuuri was not sure if he should laugh or be horrified. Probably both. 

Somewhere behind them, Mila let out a pleased sound at the revelation, but Yuuri ignored it. “It’s still early.”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I left at dawn.” The prince shrugged casually, like it was an everyday occurrence. 

Admittedly, the palace was not so far away. Yuuri could have probably made his way across the capital to its gates in shortly over an hour if he hustled, but to think of the prince walking the streets, all for Yuuri…. If it had not been for common sense forbidding him from insulting a prince, Yuuri might have called him an idiot. 

However, that did not change the fact that Yuuri now had to deal with having the crown prince in his bakery. On a work day.

Drawing oxygen into his lungs then slowly exhaling, Yuuri softened his resolve. Had this not been what he always wanted? The prince in his bakery. “Your highness, I’m flattered but… I have quite a lot of work to do today and I couldn’t impose on you to—”

Mila cut Yuuri off by standing up, the scraping of the chair legs across the floor bringing attention to her presence. “Actually, I was just telling our dear prince here that I _totally_ had something else I need to do today—bit of a sudden thing, you don’t know about it Yuuri—so maybe his highness could help you out instead?” The mischief was waterfalling off her.

Before Yuuri had a chance to even begin to explain how ridiculous a concept that was, Victor beamed. “I would love to help you, Yuuri! Please?”

Please. The prince said please. 

And just like that, Yuuri found himself being pushed into the bakery kitchen by an overjoyed Mila, the prince alongside them. Victor studied the kitchen with interest, walking around to look at everything. The organized but uneven stacks of pots, mixing bowls, and molds. Racks filled with assorted utensils, mixers, and variously shaped cookie-cutters, icing bags and multitudes of tips.

Yuuri saw it everyday, knew where everything was so well by muscle memory that he could find anything with his eyes closed. However, as he gazed around the kitchen now, through the fresh eyes that Victor was surely seeing it, the whole place looked like a substantial mess. Nothing like the blindingly pristine clean of the palace kitchens. 

“This is where you make everything?” Victor questioned, glancing over at Yuuri once he finished flipping through several vertically stacked cutting boards. 

“Not… not everything,” Yuuri replied quietly, still dazed. He felt like he was floating as he walked, pulling out a stool for the prince in case he wanted to sit. Perhaps if Yuuri focused on his work, he might manage to get through the concept that _the prince was in his bakery._ Yuuri did not know if he would ever be able to accept the notion, but he might get through it. Barely. “Not for the banquets. It’s too much work to do here, so we make what we can here and the rest we make at the palace.”

“You really like it, don’t you?” Victor leaned across the island counter at the center of the kitchen, his eyes trained on Yuuri, who tried fruitlessly not to blush. “Baking?”

“It’s the one thing I’m kind of good at,” Yuuri replied, checking the firebox of the oven. Either Mila or Mari had already loaded it, crackling embers and flickering flames licking wood inside it, raising the temperature. 

“That’s not true,” the prince said smoothly and Yuuri thought it should have been a crime for a smile to be so stunning so early in the morning. “You’re a fantastic dancer.”

Yuuri blushed a deeper red than the burning coals, unable to mumble out a protest so he accepted the claim. This must be what living in a dream felt like. Yuuri’s body moved on its own, collecting the bowls and measuring tools that he needed, pulling ingredients from the pantry. Victor’s soft expression followed him everywhere, making Yuuri very aware of his own movements, as if he were being studied. 

Measuring out flour had never been such a daunting task and a good portion ended up on the countertop instead of the bowl. 

“Yuuri… are you nervous?”

Was he that transparent? Sighing, Yuuri set the ceramic container of flour down and looked at Victor, who sat with his elbows on the counter, one arm crossed over his chest, palm of the other hand supporting his chin as he gazed back across at Yuuri. The prince sitting in his kitchen, in clothes that were centuries away from casual, the very stitching in the fine-pressed fabric denoting his class. How was Yuuri supposed to get any work done with someone that gorgeous and royal watching his every action. “Yes.”

“Because of me?”

Adjusting his glasses, Yuuri nodded. He considered taking them off, in the hopes that a slightly fuzzy prince may not be as intimidating. “I-… I still can’t believe you’re here, and you’re-…. I’m sorry, I can’t explain but… at the ball, it was different. This is…” After a week of writing letters to the man before him, Yuuri thought he might be able to get his words out easier. But here the reality was inescapable, a heavy pressure on his ribcage, the weight nearly choking. Because the prince could see him, unmasked by alcohol or magic, search him with those piercing blue eyes and finally understand that Yuuri had nothing to offer. 

Victor tapped a finger against his lips in consideration and Yuuri tried not to follow the motion, tried not to think that those lips had so nearly pressed against his own. “Is it because I’m a prince?”

“Umm… well, yes?”

Yuuri could do this. 

The man in front of him was the same one that had drawn silly little comics that made Yuuri laugh and grown so comfortable spilling every thought to on paper. Yet he was also the same striking specimen of a man Yuuri had spent years sighing over. 

Yuuri couldn’t do this.

Victor swung off the stool and in a split second was at Yuuri’s side, hand sliding along the small of Yuuri’s back. Yuuri jumped, but Victor’s fingertips pressed ever so slightly into his hip, holding him in place for a short moment before letting go in favor of picking up the container of flour. “Don’t think of me as Prince Victor today. Think of me as… say, your assistant Victor. Just someone who wants to help you. Now how much goes in here?”

Blinking up at the prince, Yuuri bit his lip, wondering if he could argue back or if it would simply come back to him as Victor playfully telling him to listen to a prince’s request. Yuuri released his lower lip from the grip of his teeth, and breathed in and out. “Have you ever baked anything before?”

“Not really. Maybe once or twice when I was a kid and didn’t want to wait for dessert so I’d sneak down to the kitchens to get some straight from the cooks. But you’re brilliant, so I’m sure I’ll be too with your guidance. Be my coach, Yuuri?”

Yuuri broke down. “Fill the bowl until the scales go even.”

Victor tipped in some flour and waited for Yuuri’s encouragement to add more, _a little more, just a bit more._ Tapping the bottom of the container, he sent a mound cascading in instead and laughed when Yuuri hastily corrected the measurements. “Not a good first impression I’m making,” Victor mused as Yuuri spooned the excessive flour back out of the bowl until the scales were absolutely level. 

“I dropped a swan,” Yuuri reminded with a tiny smile upturning his lips. A familiar warmth blossomed in his chest when Victor chuckled in response.

“Then I hope you’re as charmed by my mistake as I was yours.”

One day, Yuuri would blush so hard the color would never fade. Busying himself by recapping the container, Yuuri transferred the measured flour into a larger bowl, keeping his face angled down until the tint on his cheeks faded. Then he glanced back at the prince and inhaled sharply. “…You’re covered already.” The front of the prince’s beautifully dyed lavender shirt was dusted in white. 

“I don’t mind.”

“I do. Hold on.” Yuuri fetched a spare apron. He considered draping it over the prince himself, then quickly decided he would need a good glitter-coating before he could possibly be that forward. Instead, he held it out from Victor to take. “Put this on, your highness.”

“Victor,” the prince asserted, not reaching for the clothing. The message came across clearly.

With a sigh, Yuuri shook the material in encouragement and repeated himself, hoping his tongue did not tie itself into a knot in the process. “Put this on… Victor. Please.”

“Anything for you, Yuuri,” Victor said and took the apron, slipping it on over his head then reaching back to tie it behind him. “Could you help me?”

“Can’t you do it yourself?” he asked softly, but stepped forward nonetheless.

“I could, but I’d be much happier if you helped me.” The prince’s blue eyes sparkled in invitation.

Yuuri was going to die that day. It was inevitable. Heart stopped. Cause: a flirting prince. Isn’t that how he always wanted to go though? In the bakery, enveloped by the smell of fresh bread. And now, he might even meet his end cradled in the prince’s arms. What a wonderful way to leave the world. 

Taking delicate hold of the apron ties, Yuuri twisted them securely into a bow, tugging them snug, not at all paying attention to how said bow rested right above the prince’s rather pert hindquarters. The blush was back. 

“What next?” Victor’s smile did nothing to alleviate the heat flooding Yuuri.

“If you go over there—yes there, that one—grab four eggs from there?” Yuuri gave his first attempt at instruction. He could do this. Think of the prince as his helper and not, well, a prince. Focus on the work and not on the prince. Yuuri mixed up a yeast slurry, and when Victor came back to his side, Yuuri slid the bowl of flour toward him, already having formed the well in the center.

“Put them in?” Victor clarified and Yuuri nodded.

“Be careful not to get any shel—” The egg cracked too hard on the side of the bowl and Yuuri threw his hand out, barely managing to catch half the shell before it fell in.

“Okay, not like that, here, let me see.” Yuuri showed Victor how to hold the egg, directing Victor’s fingers with gentle pushes of his own when verbal instructions only seemed to confuse them both. After a minute of flushed cheeks and stammered lines, Yuuri got the prince to position his hold correctly, thumb and forefinger at the top, holding the end into the heel of his palm. 

If Yuuri had not felt the strength of Victor’s eyes on him before, he certainly did now, as he slipped his fingers off the prince’s hand. “Watch me here. See how I hold it? Crack it at the center and separate the top half with a bit of push from your thumb.” Yuuri demonstrated by breaking his egg open, the yolk and whites dropping cleanly into the bowl below.

Victor appeared unbelievably impressed, imitating Yuuri and exclaiming happily when he managed. A laugh rumbled up Yuuri’s throat. “Good, do the other.” That time, the prince did not achieve it quite as cleanly, but still smiled with enthusiasm as Yuuri showed him how to quickly pluck a fracture of shell from the eggs in the bowl. 

“That’s fun, I could do that all day,” Victor remarked.

“The kingdom would run out of chickens,” Yuuri answered and watched Victor’s amused smile widen as a result. They measured out the rest of the ingredients together and then Yuuri asked Victor how hard he wanted to work.

“Hard.”

“Then knead this into dough,” Yuuri said, sprinkling the thick marble slab at the center of the counter with a fine layer of flour, dumping the rough mixture onto it. 

Except Victor did not move around, staring down. “Yuuri, is that…” he pointed at the marble.

Yuuri followed the direction and then yelped in horror. He never thought the prince would actually see what became of his gift. “I-… umm, yes? It is?”

“How?!”

At least the shock in the prince’s voice was not of anger, layered thick with amusement at seeing that Yuuri had taken his gift and, arguably, destroyed it.

“I had it cut and polished,” Yuuri murmured. “Because marble is really great for making dough and rolling out pastries, it stays cool and it’s smooth so it doesn’t stick as much, and I’ve wanted a marble slab for such a long time but they’re…” _ridiculously expensive,_ “…hard to get.”

Victor was laughing, the sound rich and uplifting. “So you had the bust carved?”

Yuuri nodded. “…Is that okay? I mean, you gave it to me, so I figured it was mine to use how I wanted. It wasn’t of anyone really important, was it? I didn’t recognize it so I thought it would be okay.” Yuuri had absolutely no use for a marble bust, but as for the marble itself… That was a gift he would accept from the prince a hundred times over. 

Victor hummed in response. “It was of my father in his youth.”

The squeak which erupted from Yuuri was reminiscent of Phichit’s hamsters. “The king?! I cut up _the king_?!” He really was going to die that day.

Eyes meeting Yuuri’s, Victor then laughed and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, it was a joke! I have no idea who it’s of. Some lost long noble. Probably the best use anyone would have ever gotten of it, it’s fine.”

Pounding heart still trying to escape up and out his throat, Yuuri closed his eyes, exhaling deeply to try to calm it. “That was cruel.”

“You butchered my gift.”

“You sent me a marble bust of someone neither of us know.”

The prince’s laughter leapt across the kitchen and Yuuri wanted to drink it in, permit it to fill him until he brimmed over with its bubbling joy. 

“I’m happy that you liked my gift, however you chose to use it. I have to say, it’s very creative.” He smiled brightly and winked at Yuuri. “Now what do I do with this?” he stepped to the other side of the counter, attention down at the unformed dough.

“First, roll up your sleeves,” Yuuri said and shook his head when Victor simply pushed them up his arms. “No, not like that, roll them up.” The prince simply pushed them further and rather than trying again, Yuuri walked over. With a gentle touch, he tugged the sleeves back down so he could roll them properly. 

“If you push them up, they’ll end up slipping and getting messy,” he explained, feeling the heat of Victor’s skin beneath his touch, the proximity in which they stood with hips brushing, not missing the pleased nature of the smile Victor gave him along with a _thank you, Yuuri._

Without pushing any further, Victor began on kneading the dough, listening well to Yuuri’s instruction as the baker began to work on another recipe. The minutes passed until Yuuri expressed content at the smooth ball of dough Victor produced, taking it from him to set it aside and allow it time to rise. He gave Victor another mixture to work on, impressed by the prince’s diligence as he set off without complaint.

“You were right,” Victor mused after they finished a few sets of loaves and a couple batches of simple pastries, the time spent in quiet conversation which centered around Victor’s thoughts about how much Yuuri would like Makkachin when he finally met the dog and other pranks the prince occasionally played on his brother. “This isn’t like the ball at all. You’re very different.”

Yuuri froze, knowing that he should not be surprised. Or that he should be surprised it took that long for the prince to come to his senses. After all, Yuuri had the crown prince making bread. How could that possibly be a good idea? Even if Victor had volunteered for the task. However, Yuuri’s apology had no opportunity to stammer out.

“You’re even cuter when you’re baking.” 

Oh. Yuuri did not know what to do with that. So he just blushed and fiddled with the side of his apron, thinking exactly the same about the prince. Sleeves rolled up, hint of a sweat breaking on his brow, silver hair falling over his face in an eternally charming way, and then there was that look of _content_ undeniably curling his lips. 

“Yuuri, you know you can tell me what you’re thinking.”

Swallowing hard, Yuuri permitted the thought to slip. “I was thinking that if you worked here instead of me, we’d sell out every day…” If it was Victor manning the shop counter, Yuuri would probably come in thrice a day to buy anything and everything as long as it gave him a chance to take in the unfairly gorgeous vision that was Victor in an apron. 

The prince lit up at the compliment, but Yuuri was grateful when no teasing words came back.

“Is that all you have to do?”

“No.” Yuuri dusted his hands off on his apron. “I have a special order to deliver today, but you’ve already done enough, you don’t need to—”

“I want to. Unless you want to chase me away so quickly?” Victor interjected, gentle as ever. “I’ve been wanting to see you all week. Nothing would make me happier than to keep baking with you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri wondered how it was that his hands did not tremble right off in response to how smoothly those lines fell from the prince’s beautiful lips. Nodding, Yuuri checked the time. He was behind his usual schedule, pace much slower than usual. And that was not because he had paused now and again to answer questions Victor had, but because anytime he had, he might have become distracted by the sight of Victor kneading dough into compliance. Putting his weight into his actions, apron speckled with bits of flour and flecks of unbaked bread, his muscles visibly flexing in his forearms and beneath his shirt. 

Yuuri never had this particular daydream, but he had clearly been missing out. It was actually regrettable when they finished and Yuuri slid the last batch into the oven.

Victor massaged his biceps with his hands, but his smile remained fixed, doing all sorts of numbers on Yuuri’s heart. 

“That’s not easy,” Victor stated. “Aren’t you tired?”

Shaking his head, Yuuri wiped his hands clean before running his fingers through his hair, pushing bangs out of his face which fell back into place the next moment. “I do this everyday. You aren’t regretting being helper Victor yet?”

“Stop now and miss seeing your adorable smile? I would rather give up my crown.”

That heat coursed through Yuuri again and he was fairly certain it was not because of the fired masonry. “Then, we still have one more thing to make, if you still want to help.”

“Of course!”

Yuuri swiftly cleared the countertop, setting aside the used bowls and handed Victor two clean ones, one larger and one smaller, along with a few eggs, as well as pre-measured sugar and cream of tartar. “Do you know how to make meringue?”

Victor shook his head and once again listened to Yuuri’s explanation as the baker multitasked, cutting butter into flour to form rough crumbs under his fingers, working them together to make a pie crust. 

The lines of concentration set across Victor’s brow as he started to hand-whisk the eggs under Yuuri’s direction were unbearably charming, sending shivers up Yuuri’s back, tingling but warm. Treating Victor like an assistant rather than a prince was somehow working. The crown prince of Nikiforov was in Yuuri’s bakery, beating egg whites into meringue, lips perpetually upturned as if there were nothing he would rather be doing. 

Yuuri was gone, lost to the wonder of it, because the prince was even sweeter than the fragrance of the bread now filling the bakery, mouth forming that beloved heart whenever he caught Yuuri’s eyes on him, flirty and sweeping every worry Yuuri had out of the room and out onto the street. Would the prince ever stop surprising him?

“Yuuuuuri.” His name spilled in a cute and quiet whine. “It’s not doing what you said.”

“What’s it look like?” Yuuri inquired, leaning up onto his toes and Victor angled the bowl forward to show Yuuri the frothy egg whites inside. 

“How long does it take?”

Frowning, Yuuri glanced at the egg shells at Victor’s side. “You separated the eggs?”

“Like you said.” Victor nodded, the pout on his lips making Yuuri’s breath seize up in a hundred different ways. “And I added the other stuff.”

“The yolk didn’t spill into the whites, did it?” Yuuri questioned, rolling out the pie crust he had nearly finished preparing. The prince’s apron was messier than before, strands of his hair now out of place, sending those butterflies in Yuuri’s stomach a flutter all over again. More so when the prince’s lips parted and closed, pressed into a thin line as he thought. 

“A little?”

Yuuri could not restrain his laugh. “Did you miss the part when I said _make sure you don’t get any yolk mixed in_?”

The tips of the prince’s ears went pink. “I thought it’d be fine. It was only a little. The yolk broke, but I got rid of most of it.”

If the prince playing baker was cute, the prince playing crestfallen assistant was killer. 

“You’d be whipping that for years and they would never peak.” Yuuri smiled at him. “Sorry, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have given you something like that your first time.”

“Maybe you should be a better coach.”

“Maybe you should be a better student,” Yuuri replied, biting his lip when Victor’s gaze latched onto him, its intensity making him blush again. “…my prince,” he added quickly, hoping it may save him from the mistake of being too forward. 

“And yet again, you amaze me, my Yuuri. Just when I thought my heart couldn’t beat any harder for you.”

In that moment, Yuuri was quite grateful for the counter between them because had Victor been standing next to him, Yuuri might have been unable to resist the urge to grab him by the apron and crash their mouths together, swallowing the sound of his own name off Victor’s lips. He wondered if the prince would mind. 

“Yuuri.” The call brought the baker back to reality. A reality in which Yuuri had spent each and every of the past seven days thinking about how it would have been like to actually kiss Victor. The prince had not brought it up in their letters and neither had Yuuri. Yet suddenly the realization that a garden-setting make-out session could easily be replaced by a bakery-setting make-out session made Yuuri very much aware of just how inviting Victor’s mouth looked. 

But he should really not be thinking about that.

“Umm, we should… I need to finish this.” Yuuri set his focus back on cutting circles from the rolled pie crust, tucking them into a set of molds. 

There was a touch of disappointment in Victor’s voice when he answered. “What should I do with these? Seems a shame to waste.”

Idea flashing, Yuuri told Victor to wait before passing him a small assortment of ingredients to add to the failed meringue. “Mix it all together and pour it into that mold,” Yuuri instructed before setting the miniature pie crusts to bake and returning to make a proper meringue meant to top off the lemon custard he would fill the pie shells with. 

As with every time that morning, Victor did as Yuuri said. Once he had his meringue mixed into a simple batter, he transferred it to the cake mold. Yuuri slipped it into the oven for him before starting on the clean up.

No amount of trying to contain his blush worked when Victor slid up close to Yuuri’s side, offering to help him wash up, the words making Yuuri laugh again.

“What?” Victor said, accepting a soapy washcloth after adjusting his rolled-up sleeves. 

“How are you real?” Yuuri voiced the question which had plagued him since morning. “You’re… I don’t even know how it’s possible that you’re here like this,” he spoke under his breath, focusing on scrubbing bits of clumped and hardening dough from the sides of bowls and the edge of a scraper, “with me.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Victor asked, copying Yuuri’s movements to help. “If anyone should be asking that question it should be me. You amaze me every time I see you, Yuuri.”

“I amaze you?” Yuuri repeated, cleaning the side of a measuring spoon that did not really need to be cleaned. “Why?”

“You’re always such a wonderful surprise,” the prince replied, turning toward Yuuri, who kept his eyes straight ahead, exactly how he had during their first meeting. “I’ve never met anyone that enchanted me the way you do. Why shouldn’t I be amazed? I’ve been in love with your work for years without really knowing it. Receiving your letters makes me so happy I couldn’t even begin to explain it to you. And I don’t think I have ever wanted to relive a night as much as I would love to relive dancing with you.” 

As he spoke, Victor’s voice travelled down Yuuri’s spine, pooling at the base, where Victor’s hand settled gently not a moment later. Yuuri did not shy away.

“And at the banquet, I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun. I know it may be crass of me to say but those banquets are always torture. They’re long and they’re boring. For years, the only good thing about them has been all the lovely desserts your family makes. Except this year, instead of falling for the baked goods, I got the privilege of falling for the baker himself.”

That warmth which sprouted in Yuuri’s chest each time he received one of Victor’s letters burst through every nerve ending, making Yuuri tingle with the affection in Victor’s speech and the subtle pressure of his hand on Yuuri’s back.

“Even now?” Yuuri muttered low enough the prince would have missed it if not listening closely.

“Especially now,” Victor exclaimed happily. “I’ve never done any of these things before. It’s quite fun! Are you having a good time with me or do you just think I’m a horrible student?”

“You did pretty well for your first time,” Yuuri smiled lightly in return. “The bakery hasn’t burned down, so I would say you can call that an accomplishment. Better than I expected from a prince.” The way Victor’s eyes seemed to shine even bluer whenever Yuuri permitted himself to tease only served as an encouragement. 

A grand encouragement, as when Yuuri dried his hands he found them grasped in Victor’s the second after he had slung the small towel over his shoulder. 

Yuuri stood facing the prince, in the warmth of the bakery kitchen, surrounded by the aroma of fresh bread and the lemon meringues in the oven. He was caught in the prince’s hands, the twinkle in his eyes, the shape of his smile. 

“Thank you, Yuuri, for letting me be your helper today.”

There was no music for his pulse to follow, so it beat its own fast rhythm deep in his chest. “I-… you’re welcome, my prince. I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you were expecting when you came.” Because Yuuri had no idea what the prince could have possibly been expecting. Surely not any of this.

“It wasn’t,” Victor confirmed, bringing Yuuri’s hands up to brush a kiss over the baker’s fingers. “It was so much better.”

The blue of Victor’s eyes seized hold of the brown of Yuuri’s and was not letting go. The press of Victor’s lips to his skin sent knots twirling in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach. The bakery sat in silence, broken only by the drumming against the inside of Yuuri’s ribcage. There was a whisper in Yuuri’s mind, a light but present suggestion to return Victor’s thanks properly, to tip up on the balls of his feet so he give back the kiss. Perhaps to his cheek or the corner of his mouth or, if he felt so bold, to his pink and glossy lips. 

The regrettably audible chime of the bell on the bakery’s front door tinkered in Yuuri’s ears and he drew his hands out of Victor’s. “I-… I need to take out the… the pastries,” he fumbled on words again, glad that at least he did not fumble the tray when he pulled it from the masonry, heart still stuttering. 

Victor came over to examine the sponge produced out of his failed meringue. “What should we do with it?”

“Leave it to cool,” Yuuri said, checking his own baked lemon meringues to make sure that none of the fluffy egg whites had wept onto the custard. “Once it does, you can decorate it, if you’d like.”

Victor’s pleased grin could hardly be wider. “And until then?” he inquired curiously as Yuuri removed his apron—which was considerably cleaner than Victor’s—and began to construct a few pastry boxes which he had produced from seemingly nowhere.

“I need to deliver these,” Yuuri said, carefully setting the miniature pies into the popup slots which would hold them in place during transport. He then paused and met Victor’s gaze, finding very little of the tension in his own shoulders which had stiffened them at the start of the day. 

Yuuri smiled easily at Victor. “Would you like to come with me?”

Those drawn up heart-shaped lips would never stop wrecking havoc on Yuuri. 

“I’d love nothing more.”


	10. Into the Dusk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter seven now has some [stunningly beautiful artwork](http://tanaw.tumblr.com/post/158624269870/i-would-dance-with-you-forever-my-prince) from the incredible [@tanaw](http://tanaw.tumblr.com) of the ball, and fairy godperson Phichit! Go tell her how gorgeous it is, because I can't stop crying over it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is supporting this work, I'm catching up on all the new comments, and as always, you can find me on [tumblr as lucycamui ](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com)to ask questions or if you just wanna chat!
> 
> Have some cake~♡

The sun never seemed as precious as it did smiling onto Yuuri. Light danced across his cheekbones, glinted off the frame of his glasses and sprinted through his hair. Victor nearly tripped over his own feet when they left the bakery, too caught up in admiring the way the baker knowledgably made his way down the city streets.

Yuuri had packed a basket with the boxes of lemon meringues and a few loaves of bread to deliver, and then handed Victor one of their freshly made pastries to eat before they set off together. The tang of sweet butter and citrus lingered on Victor’s tongue as he walked alongside Yuuri, captivated by the lull of Yuuri’s voice as the baker talked a little bit about the shops they passed, pointing out a few he thought Victor might be interested in. 

Although Victor had washed his hands clean prior to leaving the bakery, his skin still felt dry and like it was still coated in a fine layer of flour, a result of the entire morning spent kneading dough. The whole length of his arms and his lower back twinged in soreness from the excursion. Yet it was a far more pleasant sensation than he anticipated, rewarded by Yuuri’s presence. If Yuuri had asked him to do a couple hours more, Victor would have leapt at the chance.

The city streets were lively with activity as Yuuri guided them through, and Victor marveled at how many people they passed called out to Yuuri. The baker responded pleasantly to them all, answering with variously worded _good day_ s and _yes my mother’s walking much better, thank you for asking_. The further they moved from the city center, the quieter the streets grew and yet people still recognized Yuuri, trading short salutations or nods of acknowledgement.

At some point after a turn onto a narrow street, Yuuri started to laugh, the sound bouncing off the cobbled roads and flower-laden windows. 

“What?” Victor asked, following Yuuri’s gaze when the baker glanced over his shoulder.

“We’re being followed,” Yuuri said quietly. His attention shifted back in front of him, corners of his lips twitching and making Victor feel all a-flutter at the sight, feeling weak at learning how sweet Yuuri was on a normal day. Every time they met, there was another layer revealed to the fantastic man beside him and it made Victor want to keep unwrapping him, slowly and delicately, like savoring what would surely be a most spectacular gift. “The triplets are behind us.”

Victor snapped his head around, barely catching sight of three sets of pigtails ducking behind a building. “Why?”

“Didn’t you see the reactions of everyone we passed?”

If he were honest, Victor was hardly paying any mind to anyone other than Yuuri. He probably should have, acted as a proper prince and greeted everyone with a smile and formal acknowledgements, but he was infinitely more interested in watching Yuuri interact with them. Yuuri addressed them all so easily, the nerves Victor had seen earlier in the bakery fading little by little. 

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” Victor admitted with a shrug, more minding the couple of paces that Yuuri kept between them.

“What were you paying attention to then?”

“You.” He loved the blush that warmed Yuuri’s cheeks. 

A few giggles sounded behind them and once more, Victor just missed the girls disappearing from sight. “Why are they doing that?”

“They think they’re being sneaky. And probably for the same reason that everyone else in the city was staring after you with their mouths open,” Yuuri stated, his pace unchanged. “The prince is strolling through town with a baker. Wouldn’t you be curious?” The rumors and whispers which had finally died off after the banquet came back in full force following the ball. Yuuri had resigned himself to them.

Victor had let that aspect slip from his mind. His appearance inside the city was not exactly commonplace, even if it was becoming significantly more so due to Yuuri. Victor would gladly walk into the capital every day if he were able to, in exchange for the simplicity of walking beside Yuuri, listening to the way words fell from Yuuri’s lips like petals. 

“A lot of people recognized you,” Victor said in realization. Nearly everyone they had encountered along the way had smiled at Yuuri the way one might at an acquaintance. 

“I’ve lived in the capital all my life, and my family makes decent business.”

“But-…” When Victor had come into the capital looking for Yuuri previously, everyone had acted like or asserted that they had no idea who Yuuri was. A frustrating amount of time spent inquiring and receiving only overtly formal apologies had left Victor believing that Yuuri was almost entirely unknown to the city, and yet Yuuri was clearly friendly with the vast majority of people they had encountered. “When I came looking for you after the banquet, I had the most difficult time finding anyone that knew who you were.”

“I heard,” Yuuri said with a lilt to his words. “But from what I also heard, you weren’t doing a good job of explaining yourself. I don’t know how many rumors went around after that day that you had stormed into town demanding people relinquish me to you. People were showing up to the bakery asking my family what sort of crime I was being accused of committing.”

Victor groaned at his own foolishness. The fact that his attempts to find Yuuri had been presumed to be made with the worst intentions had gone over his head until late into the day. No wonder so many people shuffled off with thinly-veiled denials, protecting the city’s beloved baker. Victor almost felt a stitch of envy that Yuuri’s neighbors and shop patrons had been graced by knowing Yuuri for years while Victor clung to the few precious moments between them.

“Yuuri, do you have any suitors?” Victor suddenly asked, the question springing back into his mind.

Yuuri’s foot caught on a stone, but he righted himself quickly, checking to make sure the pastries he carried were not jostled badly by the stumble. “N-no… I don’t have any suitors.”

“Why not?” Victor found it hard to believe someone like Yuuri did not attract flocks of interested persons. 

“How about you, my prince?” Yuuri dodged the question. “Are you courting anyone at present?”

“I’m courting you.” Victor got exactly what he was hoping for when pink bit at Yuuri’s cheeks. He wanted to reach up to feel the heat of that flush. “And only you, if you were wondering. Although you’ll have to forgive me if I’m still coming off too forward, it had been a long time since I’ve attempted this.”

“Why not?” Yuuri echoed, surprise scrunching up the bridge of his nose. 

“Never had the interest before,” Victor replied with a shrug. “This is the first time anyone has enchanted me this much, Yuuri. You’re so intriguing.”

“I’m not intriguing.”

“Yuuri, you’ve made a prince chase after you on multiple occasions. You swept half the guests at the banquet off their feet. I have a letter from the prince of Giacometti stating that if you ever tire of me, he would be happy to offer you a seat at his side. I’ve said it before, but you brought such life to what is normally such a bland event. I couldn’t just let you go after that.”

There was silence from Yuuri, the baker biting deep into his flesh of his lower lip, worrying at it. Yuuri mumbled something, but it was far too low, too muffled and too muddled to make out. When Victor asked him to repeat himself, Yuuri stopped in place, rooting himself to the spot. His teeth continued to redden his lip, hands holding onto his basket trembling slightly. 

The prince was about to take a step forward, to cover Yuuri’s shaking hands with his own, but the baker turned into him first. “I don’t remember.” Yuuri’s face angled down, dark hair falling to conceal eyes directed at the ground. 

“You don’t remember what?”

“I-…” Yuuri took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. Victor could read the hesitation and worry swimming in it. “You could probably tell, but I was pretty… drunk. At the banquet.”

The words wove into Victor, bringing those memories up. The flush of alcohol and laughter staining Yuuri’s cheeks, how the baker had smelled like a sweet mix of cream and champagne that Victor only then realized could be so appealing, the carelessness and spirit with which Yuuri accepted and offered dance after dance. 

“You were a bit, but delightfully so,” Victor assured. He and Yuuri had not breached the topic of the banquet much in their letters.

“I’m happy you think so,” Yuuri said and breathed out heavily, “because I don’t remember any of it…. Too much champagne.”

Oh. That certainly put things into perspective.

Embarrassed laughter rippled from inside Victor and the prince buried his face in his hands. “Oh Yuuri, in that case you must have thought… wait, nothing?!”

Shaking his head, Yuuri gave Victor a weak smile. “After… after I dropped that swan and yelled at you, I panicked.”

“I assumed as much,” Victor confirmed. “I ran around the entire palace looking for you.”

Brown eyes grew wide before Victor. “What, why?”

“I wanted to apologize for surprising you and distracting you from your work. I was the one who requested that swan and then I almost caused you to destroy it, I really didn’t blame you for your reaction. Admittedly, no one has ever treated me quite like that, but I guess I found that charmingly fresh?” 

“Being grabbed and told off by a stranger?”

“Being treated like a person.” Victor rather wanted to take hold of Yuuri’s hands, if they were not already holding the basket of pastries. “And I found you ridiculously cute, I suppose that helped.”

Yuuri’s blush lit up again. “I was convinced you were going to hunt me down and have me thrown out,” Yuuri explained, voice still soft but growing firmer. “I was so scared and… I got a bit carried away drinking champagne to try to calm my nerves.” 

“Really nothing then?” Victor asked, holding out hope.

“I woke up the next morning with the horrifying memory of how I embarrassed myself in front of you and a splitting headache,” Yuuri said, “and pitch black across the rest of the night.”

With a hum, Victor considered Yuuri’s confession and laughed at himself again. Now he could see what his brother had meant about his actions potentially being perceived as _over the top._ “But you still came to the ball. Why did you, if you couldn’t recall the banquet?”

Ducking his face again, Yuuri mumbled something before exhaling and trying once more. “I… I wanted another chance, to meet you properly. And you came to the bakery and told my sister I stole your heart…”

“And you had no idea how?” Sliding fingers under Yuuri’s face, Victor tipped it up so they could look at each other as they spoke. “You must have thought I was so ridiculous.”

“No, I was just… shocked. You sounded so genuine when you spoke but I couldn’t bring myself to go to the palace. How was I supposed to explain myself to you? That I was so drunk I couldn’t remember the prince?”

Victor frowned in a touch of confusion. “You heard me?”

“I-… I was there when you came by,” Yuuri admitted, eyes not meeting Victor’s. “We didn’t know why you were looking for me and I still thought I had done something horrid. Surely, you understand why I thought that.” Victor did. “I couldn’t understand what you were saying, any of it, it didn’t seem real. The prince was in my bakery, looking for me and saying such wonderful things that could not possibly make any sense.”

“Yuuri…” Yuuri not recalling the banquet explained so much. Why he had disappeared so suddenly, why he had not come to the palace despite Victor’s initial request, how he had explained being afraid to meet the prince at the ball, his nervousness at the end of the night and that morning. Yet, knowing that Yuuri did not remember that night carved something a little hallow in Victor’s chest, because it meant Yuuri could not recall their first dance together nor knew how Victor had been so ready to pour himself into Yuuri’s hands. “You asked me to dance.”

“I was told,” Yuuri said quietly, tilting his face into the prince’s hand which tenderly caressed the side of his face. “I can’t believe it…”

“You fell into my arms.” Victor smiled at how the pink tickled at Yuuri’s skin again. “Literally. Tripped and fell onto me, then refused to let go.” Horror spread across Yuuri’s face, but Victor continued on, keeping his tone gentle. “I think I really liked the contrast I saw between how you were in the kitchens and the drunk Yuuri that swept me off my feet. You were incredible, I promise you. The way you danced and laughed, you made the whole room light up and I couldn’t look away from you for a single second.” 

Yuuri began to stammer out what sounded like could be an apology, so Victor silenced him. “You asked me to be your prince.” Victor could tell his own grin was wide and mischievous. “ _Your_ prince.”

“And you liked that?”

“I told you that I would love nothing more than to be your prince, Yuuri. I still would, if you would let me,” Victor stated firmly. “Let me be your prince, Yuuri. I want to prove to you that I could deserve you.”

Whenever Yuuri was beside him, Victor forgot his surroundings completely. In the palace kitchens, at the ball, in the bakery, even when he read Yuuri’s letters, all else vanished from around him. Nothing could draw him away from being captivated by the delicate way in which Yuuri spoke, cautious but honest, sometimes hesitant but always pushing through to speak his intentions. 

The last time Victor was in the capital, he had wanted to look through all the interesting little shops which lined the streets but with Yuuri at his side, Victor could hardly let a single thought stray to anything other than him. Every moment passed with Yuuri filling his heart and Victor wanted to stay together like this, Yuuri’s prince for as long as Yuuri would have him.

Yuuri tilted his face into Victor’s touch once again and Victor felt his heart spasm when the corner of Yuuri’s lips skimmed the palm of his hand as a result. “Victor… I don’t—”

“Say yes!” A mashup of voices by their feet caused them to snap apart, looking down at the three faces gazing back up at them, all pigtails and toothy grins.

“Let him be your prince!” Axel asserted.

“You’ve liked him for so long!” Lutz added on.

“He likes you too!” Loop finished. 

Victor expected Yuuri to blush and stammer back a response or denial, but instead he dropped to squat at the girls’ level and smiled at their chirping prods. “Is it good manners to follow people and interrupt their conversations?”

“But Yuuri—”

“—it’s the prince—”

“—with you—”

“We were curious!” They all pouted at the same time.

Victor watched Yuuri interact with the girls, all gentleness and small acknowledgments, turning their prying questions around. He met each _have you told him how long you’ve liked him yet_ with _does your mother know you’re out here harassing royalty_ , and shuffled them down the street to deposit them in front of a modest house. 

The girls’ mother came out to greet Yuuri, bowing when she saw Victor at his side, and thanked them for returning the girls who had reportedly _snuck off the moment they heard a rumor that the prince was back in town_. The few phrases of telling off she gave them seemed to bounce right off, the triplets beaming in pride at successfully finding their goal.

“Can you girls promise not to spread gossip about this?” Yuko asked her daughters after Yuuri and Victor both waved off the apologies for the behavior of her children. Victor did not mind at all. After all, it was because of them he had managed to find where Yuuri worked, and had he not, Yuuri might have never attended the ball. 

“Sure!”

“Not a peep!”

“Got anything to trade for it?”

Yuko’s scowl did nothing to dissuade them, but Yuuri produced a small plastic bag tied with ribbon, a few cookies inside. Victor had not even seen Yuuri place it with the rest of the pastry boxes before they had left, so he was left as surprised as the girls by its appearance. 

The _thank you’s_ tripled with enthusiasm, but the next moment the girls returned to Yuuri with obvious expectation and questioning. “Still no maple ones?”

Yuuri drew back, eyes flickering to Victor momentarily. “No, I’m sorry.”

“When?!”

“I don’t know.” Yuuri gave them a reassuring smile. “But as soon as I’m able, I promise that I will bring a whole batch straight to you…. As long as you promise to listen to your mother until then.” 

Yuko winked and mouthed appreciation in response, and with another bow to Victor, pulled her daughters inside as they yelled goodbyes. 

“What were they asking about?” Victor questioned as they restarted their walk, Yuuri leading them onto a parallel street which was lined by a canal that Victor knew snaked through the capital to join with the ocean at the coast. 

“Oh… I used to make these cookies the girls really adored, but I haven’t been able to recently… They ask me every time I see them.” Yuuri’s upbeat tone lessened, reservation weighing on his response. 

“Why not?” They strolled along the canal and Victor could not help but notice that Yuuri put distance between them again. 

“Well, one of the main ingredients is syrup from a maple tree and…” Yuuri searched Victor’s face, before darting his eyes away. 

“And?” Victor prompted, not grasping the issue. “Is it difficult to get?”

“Your highness…” Yuuri spoke at barely a whisper, his voice cautious and respectful, “maple comes primarily from the Leroy kingdom.”

The meaning struck Victor like lightening. “You stopped being able to import it two years ago,” he clarified and Yuuri nodded in confirmation. 

Two years prior, Victor had not-exactly-on-accident offended the heir to the Leroy family at the annual banquet. To say that it had created tension between the kingdoms would have been a rather significant understatement. The Leroys had demanded Victor issue a formal apology for his behavior in order to amend the relationship, but Victor had refused, responding by telling Jean-Jacques to _get over himself._ He might have also not-exactly-on accident written the foreign royal’s name as Jean-Jack with an admitted amount of pettiness in subsequent exchanges.

The Leroys retaliated by cutting off all non-essential trade between the two kingdoms. Victor’s father had been less than pleased, but Victor refused to apologize, insisting that it did not really impact the kingdoms all that much and that he valued his pride above it. “Is that all though? I mean, the trade embargo is on non-essentials, so it’s not that bad, right?”

Yuuri’s brow furrowed again, consideration on how to respond visibly grinding across his mind. 

“Yuuri, please tell me, I won’t be upset.”

“You really don’t know?” The baker questioned, his steps slowing.

“Know what?”

A deep sigh landed at Victor’s feet and with it, the prince could read that Yuuri was about to tell him so much more than he was expecting.

“Pardon me, your highness, but—”

“Victor.”

“—Victor,” Yuuri corrected as they walked by a short bridge arching over the canal. “They may be considered non-essential, but people’s businesses still relied on them. There was a candy shop that sold mainly maple toffees in town. It was their primary source of income.”

“Oh.” Perhaps his father or some advisers may have mentioned that Victor’s stubbornness in regard to the issue had put some livelihoods at risk, but Victor had not been able to see how. “Did they close down?”

“They didn’t,” Yuuri replied. “They managed to develop a few new products but…”

“Others did?”

Yuuri did not answer directly that time, leading Victor across another short canal bridge, directing them toward the outskirts. The buildings were not as closely knit in this part of the city, streets wider with no stone underfoot. 

“Yuuri, tell me, please.”

“Trade was cut off, my prince. Non-essential might make it seem like nothing important, but a lot of people depend on non-essential products.” Yuuri gave him a soft smile. “Desserts and pastries are non-essential, you know.”

A pit opened up somewhere at the base of Victor’s stomach. 

“I’m sorry, that was out of place for me to say,” Yuuri muttered and Victor quickly reassured him that he was perfectly in line to express his concerns. However, Victor knew that he should not have been so surprised by that information, as it was something that he should have been responsible for considering and recognizing in part of his duties as prince. 

Victor’s attempts to drive their talk back into the positive were strained, thoughts now flooding with concern about what else he might have missed. He waited when Yuuri delivered the lemon meringues to a house with open windows through which the sounds of a lively party spilled. Laughter melded with excited shouting and the joyful yelps of playing children. 

On their way back, Yuuri dropped off his smaller deliveries and then they crossed the canal again. Victor noted that they were back-tracking along it. “Why did you come out so far when there was another bridge closer?” 

Yuuri’s shoulders tensed the same way that they had when he spoke about the maple cookies with the triplets, so Victor took a guess. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Contemplation overtook Yuuri’s face, then he gestured toward the original bridge that they had passed. “Go try it.”

Suspicious but curious, Victor approached the wooden expanse, taking in its sturdy appearance. At a glance he could see no issues with it.

“I would hang onto the railing,” Yuuri advised from behind. 

Victor was glad that he listened, because the moment he leaned the weight of one leg on the bridge, there was a sickening creaking and his foot sunk into the wood. He jumped back with a yelp, pulse sputtering as he whipped around to witness Yuuri laughing.

Holding up a hand to cover his mouth, Yuuri’s eyes danced as he took in Victor’s shocked expression. “I’ve heard tales of your bravery, my prince, but I can now suppose they were greatly exaggerated.”

Victor gaped at him for a few seconds, beyond stunned. “Are you-… Yuuri, are you _mocking_ me?”

“I couldn’t possibly, your highness.” Yuuri attempted to straighten his face, but his eyes settled on the bridge behind Victor and his telling smile broke out again. 

Victor leapt at Yuuri, grabbing the baker around his waist, pulling Yuuri’s back against his chest. Yuuri’s laugh rang out freely as he squirmed, and Victor lifted him off his feet, carrying him to the edge of the canal, threatening to deposit him onto the bridge. 

“Apologize to your prince, Yuuri!” Victor insisted, arms wrapped tightly around Yuuri who struggled against his strong hold. 

“You told me not to think of you as a prince today! You can’t have it both ways, Victor,” Yuuri protested, tipping his head back against Victor’s shoulder. 

Victor’s grip nearly slipped at how Yuuri’s brown eyes sparkled at him through heavy lashes, smile stretched with unabashed delight, lips parted as he exhaled warmth across Victor’s skin in their proximity. All thoughts of teasing Yuuri lost, Victor set him back down on solid ground, wondering if it would be wildly inappropriate of him to capture those tempting lips right there and then, out in the complete open, alongside some stretch of the city that Victor was seeing for the first time but Yuuri knew all too well. 

Yuuri turned into Victor the second his feet hit soil, laugh subsiding but that stunning blush dusted his cheeks once more. In the beaming sunlight, Victor could see how it spread high on his cheekbones, reaching the tips of his ears. The prince traced the blush with fingertips, from the shell of Yuuri’s ear down his jawline and Yuuri did not shy away from his touch. 

“Yuuri…” How was it possible to feel such joy from someone and not be completely overwhelmed by it. Although, that was not entirely right. Victor was overwhelmed, by how quickly every thought he had, every purpose was overtaken by the need to keep that gorgeous smile on Yuuri’s lips. Victor slipped his hand to caress the underside of Yuuri’s chin once more, tracing just under the plump line of his lower lip. 

A shuddering breath escaped from him and then, to a crack of Victor’s heart, Yuuri stepped back. “We… we should get back to the bakery.” Yuuri was a little breathless. 

Victor could only agree despite his reluctance, perfectly content to stay exactly where they were until Yuuri melted against him. 

“We still have your cake to decorate,” Yuuri reminded and just like that, his smile was filling Victor’s chest, which felt too tight and small to contain the adoration expanding through it. 

Dropping his hand, Victor let his fingers drag the length of Yuuri’s arm to curl around his palm, not yet ready to relinquish the contact. This time, Yuuri did not draw away, turning his hand so it slid to fit better into Victor’s. 

The world seemed to sing.

Victor hardly noticed the streets they walked along on their return to the bakery, his focus completely enthralled by the delicate upturn to Yuuri’s mouth, the light and grounding weight of Yuuri’s hand in his own. 

Birds may have soared overheard, butterflies may have fluttered all around them, bees might have buzzed around the flowers covering every windowsill, children may have sprinted past, and people may have stopped to look at them with perplexed expressions, but Victor had eyes only for Yuuri, had ears only for Yuuri’s question of how he wished to complete his role as helper and student for that day. 

“Can you show me how to make roses?”

Yuuri lit up in response. 

The only regret Victor had when they finally reached the bakery was that Yuuri’s hand left his, but the baker made up for it by draping the apron over Victor this time, tying it behind him without request. Instantly, he tasked Victor with measuring and sifting powdered sugar as he collected the other ingredients. 

Yuuri was visibly more at ease in the kitchen than anywhere else, his posture relaxed and his smile now persistent. Taking pity on Victor’s sore arms, Yuuri beat softened butter to a creamy texture, prompting Victor to add the sugar and splashes of milk in increments. The mixture turned to soft, fluffy icing, color fading to white under Yuuri’s expert ministrations.

He offered it up to Victor to finish, stating it was almost ready, and Victor copied Yuuri’s demonstrated actions, blending in the rest of the powdered sugar. The frosting stiffened while Yuuri fetched Victor’s cooled cake, placing it on a small turn table. 

With the cake before Victor, Yuuri glanced over at the prince and began to laugh again. 

“What?” Victor inquired, halting his movements. “What did I do now?”

“I left you with that for a second, how did you manage to get cream all over yourself? It has to be a talent.”

Gazing down at his apron, Victor noticed the small speckles of buttercream scattered across it, from when his grip on the whisk slipped a couple of times in the second that Yuuri had left his side. “Isn’t that what the apron is for?”

“Yeah but..” Yuuri’s eyes trailed upward. “You’re the messiest student I’ve ever had. How did you get some on your face?” He reached up and swiped his thumb across Victor’s left cheek, wiping the spot of cream from the prince’s skin before bringing it up to his mouth, licking it clean. 

Victor choked on air and Yuuri processed his actions the next moment, turning an impossible shade of red. 

“Is that proper etiquette, coach?” Victor teased as Yuuri snatched up a damp towel, wiping his hands before rubbing it with excessive force against Victor’s face. 

“No! Don’t-…. Don’t do that. That was a bad example,” Yuuri muttered mostly to himself, trying to save face by directing his focus to the cake. He cut through the center as Victor chuckled close beside him, separating the cake into a top and bottom section. 

“How do I taste?” Victor smirked but Yuuri pretended not to hear him, instructing Victor to spread a layer of the prepared cream over the surface of the bottom half of the cake.

Not wishing to push his luck too much, Victor laid down a thick layer of cream before setting the top half onto it, adjusting the position so it would at least be centered before coating the rest of the cake in the white buttercream. Yuuri was back against his side, showing Victor how to wrap an icing bag around his hand to make filling it simple. 

The first flower came out looking like it had been plucked straight out off a rosebush. Yuuri crafted them with speed and precision. Petals fell from the curved tip like magic, thin and delicate, blossoming as if opening toward the sun overhead. The next two formed the beginning of a beautiful garden, while the third—Victor’s attempt—exemplified the realistic imagery by imitating some sort of horrific excuse of a mangled weed. 

Yuuri tried hard not to laugh in order to preserve some of the prince’s dignity, but he broke into unrestrained giggles when Victor’s second attempt resulted in a barely rippled mound of shapeless nothing.

“It’s not that hard,” Yuuri said, biting back more laughter when Victor pouted.

“Then show me.”

“I already showed you.” 

“You’re not a very good coach then, you should guide me through this. You’re supposed to be the expert.”

“I think you need to try harder.”

“Show me, Yuuri!”

“Or what?” The challenge came straight back and Victor was helpless against it.

“Or…” He could not produce a single threat appropriate enough, searching the corners of his mind for something to tease Yuuri with, “or I will come back here every single day and refuse to leave until you do.”

“I’m not sure if I would be all that opposed,” Yuuri said and then positioned his hands over Victor’s, to help him along. “It might be good for business.”

Perhaps this was what heaven felt like. Yuuri at his side, firm hands guiding Victor’s in how to correctly shape the icing petals with soft-spoken instructions. Teasing, light, and laughing, thrilling Victor more in every moment. So many pursued happiness, to the ends of the world, seeking it through riches and power, and Victor had stumbled onto its purest form in Yuuri’s bakery. 

Half the perimeter of the cake was taken up by decently-formed roses by the time Yuuri’s hands released his. Victor managed the next one on his own, the overlapping petals holding to make a recognizable flower. 

“I want to try something!”

“Students are advised not to experiment until at least the second lesson,” Yuuri called after him as Victor searched the shelves of ingredients in the pantry.

The prince emerged a minute later with a small vial in hand. “Does that mean there will be a second lesson?” Victor undid the top of the icing bag, Yuuri watching him when he added a few drops of coloring from the vial. Looking quickly from side to side, he located a spoon and hastily mixed the dye into the icing.

“Your hands are going to be stained,” Yuuri warned, amused, but Victor ignored the splatter of dye across the back of his fingers. “What are you doing?” 

Victor moved a lot more deliberately, biting at his lower lip in concentration, eyebrows furrowed as he crafted his best roses yet. With a considerable amount of effort, he closed the wreath of roses lining the edge of the cake. “You said you liked blue.”

The roses they created at the bottom were a stark white, while Victor’s were streaked with indigo dye. The coloring had not been fully mixed in, but made for a striking design nonetheless. “Blue roses, for you, my darling Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s expression was unreadable as the baker admired Victor’s work, at an apparent loss for words as he parted his lips several times to speak only to close them. 

Victor cleaned his hands with the nearby towel, blue drops smearing across his skin and the material.

“Thank you, Victor…”

“You’re welcome Yuuri,” Victor beamed. “How’d I do?”

“I can’t sell it,” Yuuri chuckled, studying the handiwork. “But good, for your first time.”

The cake was a bit lopsided, because Victor had not leveled the frosting between the two layers. The cream across the side displayed obvious evidence of the strokes used to spread it across the sponge. The two disastrous excuses for Victor’s first attempts at roses still disrupted the wreath of buttercream, creating a stark contrast between the ones Yuuri had made and Victor’s. 

“Almost a shame to eat it,” Yuuri said.

Victor leaned against the baker, humming pleasantly when Yuuri mirrored the action. Their hips and thighs brushed together, and Victor took the opportunity to loop his arm around Yuuri’s waist. “I really want to try it. But if it’s really bad, let’s pretend it isn’t.”

“Or if it’s really good, we can pretend it isn’t,” Yuuri answered, getting Victor to toss him an inquisitive look. “…Because then I could have the excuse of assisting you in making another one.”

“Oh, Yuuri, that isn’t fair,” Victor groaned, tightening his hold around Yuuri, barely resisting pull them flush together. “I know we’re in a bakery but you can’t pull lines as sweet as that.”

Yuuri shifted further into Victor’s loose embrace. “Do you want to try your cake or not, your highness?”

“I do, are you going to cut us a slice?”

Yuuri murmured something in response, but he did not move away, merely gazing up at Victor, a tender smile playing with his lips. “I should… I should go get us some plates.”

Delight spread like wildfire through Victor. “But you don’t want to move away?” His fingertips swirled patterns over Yuuri’s hip, drawing up that lovely blush.

“I really should.” Yuuri’s gaze did not break from Victor’s. 

“Yes, you should,” Victor prompted, nudging his hip against Yuuri’s as if to give him an encouraging push, but his hand remained resting on the dip of Yuuri’s waist. “Are you going to leave a royal hungry?”

A moment of silence passed between them, Victor torn between teasing Yuuri and keeping him pressed against his side. Then the corners of Yuuri’s mouth twitched in amusement. The baker tore a piece of cake off with his fingers, drawing a mix of a gasp and chuckle from Victor.

Yuuri held it up, a pretty white and blue streaked rose topping a chunk of vanilla sponge. Again, Victor was faced with a dilemma. Because taking the piece of cake would mean removing his arm from around Yuuri, and he really liked having his arm around Yuuri, especially with how the other seemed so open to the contact.

So, Victor took a page out of Yuuri’s book and ate the cake straight off his fingers. Sweetness spread across his tongue and through his body at Yuuri’s wide-eyed expression when the prince’s lips dipped in again to clean the rest of the cream from Yuuri’s fingers. 

“Mmmm, quite good,” Victor mused as Yuuri blinked at him, blushing furiously, no words even hinting to fall. The prince responded to the lack of a reaction by tearing off another piece of the cake, holding it up in offer to Yuuri.

A million different thoughts appeared to race behind Yuuri’s eyes. Then, with only a brief pause, he leaned in, lips plush and warm as they took the cake off Victor’s fingers.

Victor forgot how to function when Yuuri licked his lips, meeting the prince’s gaze. “Cake’s a bit dry,” he criticized and Victor’s legs nearly collapsed out from beneath him. 

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he whined, withdrawing his embrace to clean both hands off on the towel, passing it to the baker. “That’s-… you’re…” He did not know what to say, finding that to be a rather frustrating recurring problem, never before at a loss for words like he was around Yuuri. “You’re incredible,” he laughed at the playful shrug the baker answered with. “You have a prince literally eating out the palm of your hand and you’re going to critique his baking skills?”

“You said I needed to be a better coach.”

Familiar warmth pierced through Victor’s chest, clenching at all reason. It was difficult to figure out how Yuuri said he had been nervous about meeting the prince when simply being in Yuuri’s presence reduced Victor to ashes, sent him crumbling and wishing for each minute to stretch into hours and hours into days, so he could spend all of it hopeless against the wonder what was Yuuri. Yuuri was a combination of nervous charm that sent Victor chasing his shy smiles and sparks of confidence that sent Victor falling, grasping for any sort of sense and finding only affection. 

Victor’s hands grasped Yuuri’s and he tugged the other to him. He wanted to express every feeling bubbling inside him, but how would he even begin to explain that Yuuri made the world feel like it finally made sense. What words were there for that? 

Yuuri’s fingers laced with Victor’s, squeezing gently, and Victor decided to communicate all those thoughts in the most direct way he could think of, the way he had wanted to all along.

A knock rapped against the kitchen door and Yuuri’s hands dropped instantly from Victor’s.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Mari slid open the door and leaned into the kitchen, her eyebrows arching high when she saw that she clearly was, the two stepping apart. “However, there are palace attendants here wondering if we’ve seen a runaway prince.” 

Victor frowned and sighed, turning back to Yuuri. “I was pushing my luck anyway,” he said. Maybe it was for the better. If he kissed Yuuri now, he might have refused to return to the palace entirely. Victor smiled at Yuuri. “Thank you, for today.”

That blush was tearing Victor’s heart to shreds, knowing he had to leave it. 

“Thank you, for helping me,” Yuuri replied softly, smiling and bringing Victor to the verge of abandoning his crown just so he could keep drowning in it. 

Victor removed his apron and handed it to Yuuri, about to take a step back but changed his mind. He could not kiss Yuuri’s hands, as they held the apron, so he elected to press his lips to Yuuri’s cheek instead, holding it for the length of one of Yuuri’s sharp breaths before pulling back. 

The prince made his way to the kitchen door, throwing Yuuri another gorgeous smile, about to speak but Yuuri beat him to it.

“Victor—” Yuuri shifted nervously and then squared his shoulders, smiling back. “Can I… Can I see you again?”

His pulse skipped several beats and Victor laughed. “Of course, Yuuri…” The prince paused in consideration and glanced over his shoulder, at the palace attendants he saw standing at the bakery entrance, at attention and looking a combination of relief and exasperation. “…I have to leave the kingdom tomorrow, to sort out some issues, but as soon as I’m back, will you come to the palace to see me? I want to show you the gardens in full bloom.”

Yuuri nodded without hesitation. “I’ll wait for your letter.”

Mari cleared her throat beside Victor, and the prince reluctantly broke away from Yuuri’s beautiful brown eyes. The attendants said nothing as they escorted the prince to the coach waiting for him, and Victor made sure to blow Yuuri a kiss before it pulled away.

Yuuri watched the coach ride toward the palace, Victor’s borrowed apron clutched to his chest, unable to keep up with how hard his heart was pounding. 

“So when’s the wedding?” Mari asked and Yuuri yelped in response, protesting as his sister laughed and ruffled a hand through his hair.

Despite the prince departing the kingdom the following day, Yuuri still received a letter from him. He both smiled and winced in embarrassment through it, reading at how Victor gleefully described exactly what Yuuri had gotten up to while drunk off champagne at the banquet. 

Yuuri had to hide from Mila the pages of drawings the prince made, all depicting Yuuri dancing with members of various royal families and the prince himself. He thought the prince’s illustrations of him were unfairly beautiful but wrote back his heartfelt thanks all the same.

Midway through the week, when Yuuri went out to make deliveries one afternoon, he saw immediately that something was _off_ in the city. There were people on the streets as always, but they all seemed to be moving in one direction, chatter more excited than usual. Yuuri made his deliveries despite his curiosity calling for him to follow. 

His question was answered when he dropped off a couple of loaves of bread and another set of cookies at the Nishigori’s. 

“Haven’t you heard?” Takeshi asked after his daughters once again finished questioning Yuuri about the maple. “That old bridge that’s over the canal is being fixed. And the workers handling it said the prince ordered them to check the whole expanse.”

Yuuri had no idea where it was that Victor had gone and knew that his letters were being delivered not to the prince but to an empty study inside the palace which awaited Victor’s return, but he wrote to him nonetheless. Letters from Victor came every day, mostly filled with the things he wanted to show Yuuri if they had traveled together on his trip. At the end of each, he marked Yuuri a countdown of the days until he returned. 

On the day Victor was supposed to arrive back in the kingdom, Yuuri received a letter. However, it was not from the prince. The handwriting was not in Victor’s elegant loops, but in strokes that were bold and stern, thick in the vertical lines and the words which they formed strict with upmost formality.

Yuuri had received summons to the palace.

From the king.


	11. With the Sun and the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Noon30ish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Noon30ish/pseuds/Noon30ish) made ridiculously cute art for chapter nine, [of Prince Victor helping Yuuri in the bakery](http://noon30ish.deviantart.com/art/The-Prince-and-the-Baker-670839100)! If you want something to spice up your life, I really recommend their fic "For the Camera."
> 
> Thanks, as always, to all my readers for your support, and hope you enjoy ~~the drama chapter~~

_His Royal Majesty, King Yakov of Nikiforov  
Hereby requests the attendance of _ Yuuri Katsuki  
_At the Royal Palace_

The bakery’s atmosphere had grown grim since the morning, more with each hour as time drew closer to when the coach was supposed to come to take Yuuri to the palace. Yuuri attempted to make the joke that since the summons read “requests” technically he could refuse. No one found that the least bit amusing.

His parents told him he had to go. Mari told him he had to go. Even Mila, as positive as she tried to be about the whole thing, told him he had to go. Yuuri knew that. There was no choice but to go, no refusing summons. However, he could still panic about it first, no matter how much everyone tried to reassure him that it would be _fine, just fine, nothing to worry about._ Because how could it be fine?

Yuuri had seen the king on several occasions. Just like the crown prince, he made appearances in the capital, during celebrations and events, made speeches to the citizens, and rode through with a procession before and after diplomatic trips abroad. 

Yuuri’s family had met the king when they first began to serve the banquets. However, as this year had been the first time Yuuri managed to bring himself to visit the palace, he had yet to meet the king himself. Maybe it would be nothing, just like Mila had suggested. Nothing…. Yuuri did not think the king would send out summons for _nothing._ There was no doubt it had everything to do with his building relationship with Victor.

A neat stack of letters sat on the corner of Yuuri’s desk. He developed the habit of stroking his fingers over them whenever he left the room. A few pages hung pinned to the wall beside Yuuri’s bed. Not ones darkened by Victor’s overtly fond words, but the ones on which the prince had drawn. The ink was black against the parchment and yet it brightened Yuuri’s room. 

That was part of what scared Yuuri most. If meeting the king would mean losing the unexpected brilliance that had flooded his life through Victor.

Mari had remarked that she could hear Yuuri humming whenever he baked, melodies which reminded her of the ball. Mila mentioned that Yuuri walked lighter, the smile which had always illuminated the bakery all the brighter. His parents were more direct, observing that Yuuri could not look happier than he did when a letter would arrive for him.

Lines of customers waited outside the bakery in the mornings and afternoons. Yuuri could see how their gazes latched onto him, but they all made purchases. Some did whisper questions to him about the prince, about if it was true that it was indeed him who had danced with Victor all night at the ball. Somehow, Yuuri found himself minding the questions less and less each time. He could hardly deny them, especially when the occasional royal envelope came through the door mid-conversation with another new patron.

His parents were delighted by the influx of new business and started talking about hiring an assistant. _The Kenjiro boy might be good, and he really looks up to you, Yuuri, think about it. If the prince isn’t interested in the job, that is,_ they winked. 

Any doubts that may have crept up in the back of his skull were washed away the second another one of Victor’s letters landed in his hands, drawing a pleasant ache from the center of his chest. Each one pushed Yuuri so near to the edge of overflowing. He fell asleep, more often than not, with a page beside his pillow, fingertips resting over Victor’s beautiful signature. 

Yuuri did not want to lose that. Victor filled his life so wholly and suddenly, to be stripped of that would leave Yuuri hallow. And naturally, that meant every nightmare scenario skipped around in Yuuri’s mind as he laid in his bed, unable to distract himself even through work, resigned to simply waiting. 

He expected to arrive at the palace to be reminded of the reality that he was a baker, nothing more. With no stature or title and thus no place awaiting him at Victor’s side. The prince would ultimately need someone of nobility to join him on the throne. 

Perhaps it would not be so bad, as long as Yuuri was still granted the privilege of visiting the palace for the banquets, able to then spend a minute or two in the prince’s radiant presence. It may strangle his heart, leave him lovesick for the length of the year, but Yuuri could no longer fathom being entirely without Victor.

_It won’t be like that._

Maybe it would be worse. Banned from seeing or communicating with Victor completely. The letters he had received would be confiscated and Yuuri blocked from attending any events in the kingdom at which the prince would appear. The time could pass, Victor would forget about his springtime fling with a commoner, and Yuuri would do his best to let the prince fall from his memory as well.

_That won’t happen._

No, Victor would not be easy to forget. Those perpetually shining blue eyes and heart-shaped simile, his rich and rolling laugher, the gentle way in which he met Yuuri halfway in every interaction, calmed Yuuri’s nerves so effortlessly, made Yuuri laugh without restraint, and how his touch made Yuuri wish for the world to stop… Victor would be impossible to forget.

Perhaps Yuuri would face exile, punishment befitting someone who dared to waste the prince’s time, distracting him from his duties. Yuuri had Victor abandon his responsibility in serving the kingdom in exchange for a day spent baking bread and eating cake from each other’s hands.

_That was quite fun, let’s think about that instead of—_

Execution.

“Oh come on!”

Yuuri jumped from his bed, because Phichit glittered into existence directly beside him. 

“Has that ever happened?!” the fairy demanded, glaring at Yuuri.

Admittedly no, but Yuuri was concerned more about swallowing his shock back down rather than answering.

Phichit sat up, arms and legs crossed. “You’re driving yourself up the wall fretting like this, Yuuri. And not a good one like that.” He jerked his thumb back to gesture at the illustrated pages hung behind him. “Why?”

Because that was what Yuuri did. Overanalyzed everything beyond realism, letting anxiety get the better of him, convincing him that even the most unlikely worst-case scenario was still remotely plausible and thus deserved his worry. “I-…” Yuuri did not know how to explain what he felt, the dread engulfing his stomach and lungs, spreading through each organ slowly, like poison whispering that the only possible result of the summons would be losing Victor. 

Yuuri knew he did not deserve the prince, that he was kingdoms away from being able to compare himself to Victor. He should be grateful for the borrowed time he had been gifted already, a treasure that Yuuri could have never imagined. “It’s just going to end badly.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Phichit asked, head tilted a degree to emphasize his pointed question.

“How could it not?” Yuuri countered, drawing into himself, arms wrapped around his own chest. “It’s not like the king is summoning me to ask me in which season I’d want to have the wedding.”

Phichit’s eyes sparkled and Yuuri was not sure if it was an effect of the glitter or not. “So you’re thinking about weddings?”

“That’s—that’s not what I meant,” Yuuri stammered back.

“The king asking you about your opinions on a wedding is more likely than _execution_!” Phichit said, throwing his arms up. “Has anyone ever told you that you worry way too much?”

Yuuri slumped against the wall opposite the bed. “Yeah…”

Phichit sighed heavily. “Look, I’m not here to tell you what to do—”

“Really?”

“Really,” Phichit chuckled. “I just wanted to drop by to remind you that you’ve been overthinking everything so far and yet it’s all turned out fine.”

Not a single protest came to mind, despite Yuuri trying to produce one. Because it was true. For years, Yuuri had worked himself up about going to the palace. While drinking far too much champagne had never been an ideal, it had resulted in him getting what he always wanted: the attention of the prince. Yuuri had almost passed up the ball for fear of how Victor would receive him, yet that night had been magic in more ways than one. Then, Yuuri put off agreeing to meet Victor because he thought it was too good to be true, that Victor would become disillusioned, and yet the affection in Victor’s letters had grown exponentially after the day they spent together in the city. “This is different.”

“Why is it different?”

“Because it’s not about me. It’s not about Victor. It’s about the king and what he thinks of us.”

“Do you really think so little of your king, Yuuri?” Phichit questioned. “He may be stern, but he’s a fair man. He’s maintained peace between all the kingdoms for decades, one doesn’t accomplish such a feat by being a tyrant.” 

“That doesn’t mean he’ll approve,” Yuuri said quietly. “I’m no one. I’m a baker. Who is that to a prince? Even-… even if Victor likes me, that won’t matter because in the end, I can’t be with him. He’ll be the king one day and he will be required to have someone of nobility as his partner… not me.”

“You seem very sure of yourself for someone who hasn’t even heard what the current king has to say,” Phichit pointed out. “And don’t you think there’s a chance Victor would fight for you? Why are you so hung up on the idea that he’d give you up that easily?”

“Wouldn’t he?” Yuuri asked, then bit his lip when Phichit arched an eyebrow.

“Yuuri…”

Sighing, Yuuri hung his head. He knew what Phichit meant without the fairy saying it. Yuuri had very little doubt that if his meeting with the king did go badly, Victor would not let the judgment pass. All of Victor’s reassurances, how positively he had reacted to finding out Yuuri could not remember the banquet. Instead of being upset by it, he filled in the gaps for Yuuri with his letters and his drawings, wanting Yuuri to see exactly why Victor had ran after him. 

Then, Victor’s words on their day out… _I want to prove to you that I could deserve you._ Victor thought that it was him who had to win Yuuri’s heart, unaware that Yuuri had lost it to Victor long ago. Now, all their encounters only served to convince Yuuri more that he never wanted to find it again. 

While Yuuri could not quite comprehend why Victor felt so strongly, if it were anything similar to how Yuuri felt, he wanted to cherish that forever. “He’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t he?” Yuuri muttered with the smallest smile. “The prince…”

“You could say that again.” Phichit rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want him doing something stupid for me.”

“Yuuri, don’t you see that there is no point in worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet? Like you said, it isn’t up to you anyway. It’s up to the king. Which means the only thing you can do now is go and face whatever happens. Talk to the king, Talk to your prince. And worry then, if you need to. Not now. But, remember that you’ve had nothing that warranted worry before.”

Yuuri raised his head. “Are you pushing me because you want to get your license?”

“I wouldn’t risk your happiness for something like that. I can always do another thesis project. Besides, the only way for me to get it is for you to get your happy ending. I wouldn’t be here if I thought the king would be ordering you into exile…” Phichit smirked. “I’d be helping you and the prince plan your escape together.”

“You’re telling me that it’s going to be okay?”

“I can’t make that promise.” Phichit shook his head. “Because I don’t know. But I didn’t want to sit by and watch you wind yourself up so much you make some rash decision. Like running.”

A dry laugh left Yuuri. “Rash decisions kinda put me into this situation in the first place.”

“That’s because those were good decisions. You shouldn’t be afraid to go for what you want, Yuuri. Do you know what you want?”

What Yuuri wanted… He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to keep being surprised by having a prince show up at his bakery without warning, wanted to see the gardens which Victor spoke so fondly of as they were in the day, wanted to relive their dances together. He found himself waking every day thinking what it may be like to have the other’s warmth beside him then and at night when drifting into sleep, wondering if dreams would come easier if his head rested on Victor’s chest. He wanted to share the chill of the rain and the brightness of the sun with his prince. _His prince._

“I want Victor.” The declaration was firm, voice unwavering.

“In that case, I think there’s a coach waiting for you outside.” Phichit winked. “Go get your prince, Yuuri.”

Yuuri was not sure of the etiquette of expressing gratitude to a fairy. Welcoming Phichit to a lifetime supply of cream puffs may not be the smartest decision, so Yuuri did the next best thing he could think of. He hugged Phichit.

His godperson squeaked a little in surprise, but relaxed into the tight embrace, patting his hands over Yuuri’s back. “That’s a better goodbye than I was hoping for,” the fairy joked when Yuuri finally pulled back, not even checking himself for potential glitter residue. 

“Goodbye?” Yuuri repeated, taking a step back.

Phichit nodded and smiled. “I’ve meddled enough. And I don’t think you’ll be needing any more of me after today.” 

Yuuri was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. “Thank you then. For everything.”

“No problem! Just remember what I said. My magic was always something you could manage on your own, with a bit of confidence.” He waved. “Bye Yuuri!” 

With a final burst of glitter, Phichit disappeared. The only evidence of his presence was a slight gust which sent one of the letters fluttering off Yuuri’s desk, onto his bed. He went to set it back in place before catching the last line scrawled across the bottom of the page. _I count the minutes until I can hold your hands in mine again, my darling Yuuri._

Something seized inside him.

Yuuri touched a kiss to Victor’s signature and left the letter on his pillow, tugging on his shirt to straighten it. Then, taking a deep breath, he headed downstairs in time to see Mari coming up, her face hard-lined. 

“You’ll be fine,” she told him under her breath before Yuuri stepped into the royal coach waiting outside the bakery for him.

The sun had already long passed its peak, descending degree by degree as the coach moved toward the palace. Out the windows, dark clouds were building in the distance, almost out of sight, yet approaching, slow and foreboding.

The coach followed the same road he had ridden through on the way to the ball. That ride had been like the blink of an eye, yet now time stretched on, making Yuuri aware of every dip of wheels over cobbled streets, every sound of hooves dragging him closer to a palace which grew more intimidating with each of Yuuri’s strained breaths. Each bump and creak jostled him, shaking loose the confidence he had briefly felt leaving the bakery. 

When the coach stopped, Yuuri did not move. Eyes closed, he counted slowly, backwards from _ten, nine,_ trying to conjure up the image of Victor’s encouraging smile, _eight, seven,_ recalling the lightness of Victor’s hand on the small of his back, _six, five,_ and against his cheek, _four, three,_ how their fingers had laced as if they belonged, _two…_

The coach door opened before Yuuri reached one. His name called, Yuuri had no choice but to climb out. His hands trembled at his sides as he was escorted up the steps leading to the grand entrance of the palace. No music drifted through the halls like at the ball, emphasizing the fall of his footsteps on the marble flooring. 

Yuuri’s heart was threatening to fracture through his ribcage, pounding bruise after bruise into it. No smiles were there to calm him, no glitter to sweep away his building nerves, and with each step, Yuuri begged and prayed that the day might somehow skip itself. 

The two attendants who guided him said something, barely checking that Yuuri kept pace when they stepped into the hall which led to the king’s sitting room, a hall which appeared to stretch on endlessly. Yuuri’s legs refused to move any further. 

His next breath choked in his throat, constricting, nerves firing and pressure building behind his eyes, threatening to break through and spill. He felt like glass, one fragile nudge away from shattering, immobile and reduced to mentally pleading, pleading just to have one last chance to see—

“Yuuri!”

At the other end of the hall was Victor. 

The prince looked nothing like his normal self. His silver hair seemed at a loss for direction in several places, pressed clothing visibly wrinkled even from afar. The vest he wore did not sit straight, and the frown weighing down his expression did not suit his handsome face.

Victor did not permit another second to pass still, sprinting toward Yuuri.

There may have been a warning from the attendants, but Yuuri was deaf to it the second he took off. Yuuri’s legs carried him across the hall without him granting them permission. The sound of rapidly falling footsteps echoed off the walls as he ran, vision blurred, straight into his prince’s arms. 

The moment he was in them, Victor held him strong and reassuring, cradling Yuuri against him as Yuuri buried his face into the collar of Victor’s shirt, biting back the tears prickling at his eyes. He could not hear the words Victor whispered over the pulsing in his ears, but he felt the caress of Victor’s lips to his hair and his temple. Yuuri’s entire body hummed with the touch and he clung on tighter.

A protest nearly left Yuuri when Victor drew back, only to find the prince’s hands cupping his face, thumbs stroking over Yuuri’s cheekbones. Yuuri’s vision was filled with Victor’s gorgeous smile and it was all he could do not to break down at the sight. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Yuuri. I’ve missed your smiling face so much, will you please let me see it?” Victor asked, all warmth and fondness.

How could Yuuri possible deny him. He smiled at Victor, awash in relief as he watched Victor’s own blossom more in response. It made Yuuri want to plunge his fingers into Victor’s unusually unruly hair and taste that beloved heart-shape. 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri, I didn’t know he was going to summon you, I just found out…” Victor’s words fell rapidly, his blue gaze clinging to Yuuri’s. “I promise you that—”

“Your highness, your father is waiting.”

It was the first time Yuuri saw Victor scowl. The prince acknowledged the reminder and then lifted Yuuri’s hands, kissing the palm of each. Yuuri could feel a spike rip through him when he had to step back.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri, it’ll be okay,” Victor said, keeping his voice steady. “I’ll be waiting here for you.”

Yuuri desperately wanted to clutch onto Victor, to his smile and his touch, to rush back in and seize what may be his last chance at the kiss which kept escaping them, but instead he found himself being guided away from Victor and into the sitting room.

The heavy doors closed behind him with controlled force, cutting Yuuri off from Victor and depositing him before the king.

“Yuuri Katsuki, am I correct?”

The king had always bore the image of a stern ruler, an imposing man with a near-permanent grimace and gruffness in his voice. In the handful of times Yuuri had seen the king in the city, he always commanded attention without effort, an unrivalled symbol of royal power.

He sat with broad shoulders as rigid as his expression, draped in fine fabrics, fingers decorated with bejeweled golden rings which only drove to indicate his stature. His hair greyed like wisdom, and his heavy-set eyes were unyielding. 

Yuuri could see none of Victor in him, it was the younger prince who took after their father. Yuuri had never met the late queen, and at that moment could hardly spare the thought if Victor had gained her brightness instead of the king’s sensibility. 

“Yes, your majesty.” By some miracle, Yuuri’s words left steadily.

”The stories I’ve heard about you, my boy,” the king spoke with considered intention, each syllable punctuated in purpose. “Never before has anyone left such an impression.”

Yuuri did not know what to say, so he said nothing. The king continued.

“I leave my kingdom in the hands of my heir and what do I return to? Tales about a baker, of all people, who upstaged the annual peace banquet. Reports that my son has been running off into the capital on sheer whims, to spend his time walking the streets like a commoner. And here I’ve spent years hearing from your respectable family about how you’ve never served the palace because of your meek nature.”

Yuuri concentrated on his family’s insistence that everything would turn out fine, on Phichit’s, on Victor’s. But that prickling anxiety was gathering at the base of his spine.

“Stories of your influence have already spread all the way to Iglesia, my boy. Imagine my shock when I hear royalty and dignitaries demanding to know your name and I cannot even confirm your face to sate their inquiries. You’ve certainly left your impression on more than just my son.”

“Your majesty, I—”

“Don’t speak.”

Yuuri bit his tongue in his haste to shut his mouth.

“But tell me, Yuuri,” his name fell like a brick from the king’s mouth, “do you know where my son has been these last couple of weeks?”

Heeding the order not to speak, Yuuri shook his head.

“Did he not tell you?”

Yuuri repeated his previous action.

“Something put it in his head to visit the Leroy kingdom. I’m sure you are well aware our relationship with them has been… strained. The closest the kingdoms have been to conflict in decades. All thanks to my son and his foolishness. I’ve tried to raise him well, but he’s always been rather stubborn, not one to think much outside of himself at times. He seemed determined to demonstrate that again, when he went to see the Leroys, without sending word of his intentions ahead of him. You can understand my concern over our Victor suddenly appearing, unannounced, before the Leroys, making demands…”

Yuuri’s heart collapsed into the pit of his stomach and his mind scrambled to find any explanation, any apology, any plea to shift the blame off Victor, who had only acted in response to Yuuri’s careless words.

“Do you know of the result of his impulsive decision? How it has impacted the kingdoms, our political and personal relationships? Potentially permanently?”

Yuuri’s knees were about to give in, ready to plummet him into the deepest bow possible, but the king called out to Yuuri before he could sink to the floor.

“Come here boy, let me show you your impact so that you might begin to understand. Hurry up, don’t waste my time.”

Yuuri rushed to the king’s table, carved from ebony, gnarled legs and intricate designs gilded in a way that reminded Yuuri he could not possibly deserve to be near such grandeur.

At the center of the table, the king spread out several pages of formal script. The text was heavy, lines thick and detailed, Yuuri barely catching glimpse of words describing law and borders. He scanned it, unsure of what he was meant to see, before settling on the title of the document.

A beat passed.

_Treaty of Amity and the Restoration of Commerce_

On the final page, succeeding multitudes of negotiated articles, Yuuri recognized Victor’s signature beside those of the king and prince of the Leroy kingdom. His attention snapped to the king. “I—”

“It isn’t formalized. I still need to sign my approval, and I have yet to review it in detail, but from what I have seen, it is more than I could have accomplished on my own.”

Again, no words came to Yuuri, although now for a completely different reason. The king’s gaze was unfaltering, studying Yuuri’s reaction. Yuuri felt like he needed to say something, but where to begin when he could hardly process what he was being shown.

“That’s not all. I heard from a dignitary of the Crispino’s that he chanced upon my son on his journey. Victor’s never been good with dignitaries, yet there I had one asking me if something had happened to him because Victor actually addressed the man by name. Hardly a feat for anyone else, yet he was gushing.”

Yuuri felt as if he had been holding his breath since he came in and was finally allowed to let it go. “…Was he really that bad?”

“Victor can be quite intelligent when he’s paying attention, but he’s always struggled to look beyond himself. And that isn’t a good quality for someone destined to inherit a kingdom. Look at me, Yuuri, I went grey long before this, worrying about what would become of our lands when time came for Victor to take over. For years, I wondered if he even had an interest in the role. I left him on his own for this year’s banquet thinking I would return to have my fear confirmed for me. Yet I come back to learn that he has mended his problematic relationship with the Leroys, has taken interest in seeking out issues within the capital, and has even reached out to the outer regions to inform them he has arranged a council to hear of any grievances he may be able to address directly.”

The buzzing of Yuuri’s nerves was subsiding, knots in his abdomen unraveling one by one. “I-… I’m glad that Victor could accomplish such things without me there as a distraction, your majesty…”

A laugh barked from the king. “A distraction? My boy, if that’s what you think of yourself, know that I wish you had started distracting him years ago! Continue on and he might actually be ready to become a king by the time I’m ready to pass him the crown.”

Shuffling in his spot, Yuuri straightened his posture, sweeping his eyes over the proposed treaty laid out in front of him. “I was worried my presence at the banquet might have disturbed some of the other kingdoms…”

“I don’t know what you got onto there, but I have pages upon pages from various royals requesting I send you abroad to have you teach their chefs to make some sorts of swans and champagne fountains.” The king gave Yuuri a short look of curiosity. “The others from Christophe of Giacometti that I do not dare to repeat.”

Once again, Yuuri had no appropriate response to offer, but he was under the impression that the king did not expect much in the way of it anyway. “Your majesty, I beg your pardon but… you said you were concerned about Victor visiting the capital to—”

“Concerned?” The king chuckled, a sound which did not fit with Yuuri’s image of him. “I did not say concerned, I’m delighted. How is a king supposed to understand how to best serve his people if he does not go out to walk among them? I have needed a reminder of that myself.”

“Then…” Yuuri pushed all his earlier concerns down and, with a deep breath, proceeded, “may I ask why you summoned me?”

“I had to see you as you were, did I not? And I understand how Victor regards you, which is why after all that I’ve learned of you I wanted to ask… don’t you think that someone of your influence deserves more than my son’s rather foolish nature?”

Had he not have been before the king, Yuuri might have laughed at the absurdity of the question. “His foolishness makes me quite happy, your majesty…”

It may have been a grimace or a smile that crossed the king’s mouth, Yuuri could not be sure. Leaning back in his chair, the king regarded Yuuri, then nodded his head. “Very well. I’m certain you and Victor have a lot to discuss. You are dismissed. Pass my greetings onto your dear family.”

Yuuri dropped into a bow, releasing all manners of gratitudes from his lips until the king waved him off. 

The moment Yuuri was out and back in the hall, he allowed his shoulders to drop, alleviated from the weight which sat heavy on them since the morning. 

He had but a moment to savor it, as he was knocked to the floor by a lapful of poodle. Paws pressed into his chest and a joyful bark rang in his ears, face full of brown wired fur, and a wet tongue lapped at one of his cheeks. 

“Makka, get off him!” 

Looking past the excited dog, Yuuri’s eyes landed on Victor. The prince was a mixture of amusement and concern, grabbing his dog in an attempt to pull Makkachin off Yuuri, but the poodle squirmed away and pranced around to try to get Yuuri’s other side. 

“Mind your manners, really!” Victor held out a hand to Yuuri and pulled the baker to his feet. “Are you okay?” he asked, volume dropping, the question inquiring more than just Yuuri’s uncivil introduction to the dog. 

Yuuri nodded and watched the relief spread through Victor. 

“I was hoping to introduce the two of you in a proper manner, but.. this is Makkachin.” The poodle wagged his tail hard. “Normally he’s better behaved and not this excitable, but I think he’s been smelling you on my clothes and recognized it.”

The implication of the words sunk in and Yuuri turned into Victor, gazing onto the prince’s still rather frazzled appearance, at his gentle smile, and then down to where the prince’s hand had yet to let go of his. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Makkachin. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Yuuri held his other hand out for the poodle to smell, the lick which he received pulling a short laugh from his lips. “He’s even cuter in person.”

Victor tugged on Yuuri’s fingers. “Come on, I was going to take Makka out…”

Casting a glance back to the king’s sitting room, Yuuri let Victor lead him through the hall which seemed far less intimidating now. Victor guided them out to the gardens, the sun sinking lower still and starting to paint colors across the sky. 

“I saw all your letters,” Victor said, taking Yuuri along the same path they had during the ball. Except now a dog trailed alongside them, and flowers were not darkened by the night. “You wrote them even though you knew I wouldn’t get them?”

Yuuri nodded, still amazed at how readily he relaxed when Victor was beside him. “It was strange not to answer yours. When did you come back?”

“Shortly before you arrived. I wanted to go straight to see you, but then I heard my father had called for you.” There was an unfamiliar strain to Victor’s voice, which was hard to place. “Did he… what did he say to you?”

“He told me everything you’ve done since I last saw you,” Yuuri replied, admiring the beauty of the gardens. The paths were lined in neatly trimmed deep green shrubbery, arranged sections of florals. Victor had not mentioned the purpose of his trip in his letters and Yuuri wondered if that were in case he had been unsuccessful. “Did you really… because of me?”

Yuuri could hear the smile on Victor’s lips. “Because you made me realize that I needed to.”

Yuuri did not press on. Victor did.

“Was that all?”

“He said he wished I had come to the palace sooner.”

Victor’s laugh traveled through Yuuri and the prince’s hold on his hand tightened as they strolled past daffodils dancing in a breeze. “I think so too.”

“He also-…” The king’s finishing words were like lead on Yuuri’s mind, but he was not sure how to present them to Victor. “He asked if…”

“If you were sure about continuing on with me?”

“In so many words,” Yuuri confirmed. “I would have thought that would be a question for you.”

“Yuuri, I’ve never been so sure of something in my life.” The white and yellow of daffodils blended into the red of tulips, then into the deep purple of hyacinths. “You know, I was never very fond of traveling to the other kingdoms. The journeys are long and the meetings are rarely interesting, but this time all I could think about were the places I wanted to show you. Everything I saw reminded me of you, and how much better it could be if I were to have you beside me… And it all seemed worth it for the first time, because I knew I would return home to you.”

Victor took them past the white canopy of in-season dogwood trees, to the pink of cherry blossoms. If Yuuri looked carefully, he was certain he would be able to find every kingdom represented in the garden. He was also certain that his cheeks matched the color of the flowers above them, the prince’s flirting never failing to bring a blush to them.

“I feel like I’m about to wake up from a dream,” Yuuri muttered. “I met with the king, who complimented me when I thought I was going to be told I was never to speak to you again. And now I have a prince attempting to romance me in his gardens.”

“What do you mean attempting? I’m not succeeding?” Victor paused under the cherry tree, turning to face Yuuri. “I should try harder then.”

Like the gardens were in bloom, the adoration inside Yuuri blossomed as well, as it always did whenever he was with Victor. “You could.”

Victor’s blue eyes twinkled and he reached up to push back strands of Yuuri’s hair. “The kitchens are full of maple for you.”

“I kind of expected that already,” Yuuri replied, while wondering if it were possible to never move from that spot, to preserve the spring, and how the flowers overhead tinted Victor’s hair from silver to the finest shade of pink. “As soon as your father showed me that trade agreement.”

Victor chuckled. “Then tell me what else I could do.”

Yuuri meant to tell him that it was enough. That he had already done everything he possibly could to secure Yuuri’s heart, for as long as he would keep it. However, he did adore how Victor responded to his teasing. “Well…”

“Yes?” The back of Victor’s fingers traced up the side of Yuuri’s face.

“The rain’s going to start soon. The roof of the school the triplets go to sometimes leaks if it goes on for too long.” 

“Done. What else?”

Yuuri thought hard. “…The ports.” 

“The ports? They’re fine.” 

“The ones you and the navy use are fine. The ones for the merchants are worn.”

“I’ll have it looked into. And then?”

“You should visit the other regions more often, to make sure you take care of them as well as the capital.”

“I intend to.”

“And give bakers a bit more of a warning if you’re going to request something like a life-sized choux swan out of the blue.”

Victor’s smile could not possibly grow any wider. “Of course. I beg your pardon. Anything else I could grant you, while you’re asking?”

Yuuri lifted a hand to pluck a cherry blossom off an overhanging branch, and set it behind Victor’s ear. He had to stop himself from laughing at the image, the prince with a pink flower in his hair. Yuuri had come to the palace fearing the worse and although the tension which had twisted at his insides had not vanished entirely, it was fading minute by minute. Victor gazed at him with tangible affection, and Yuuri found himself thinking, _you could kiss me._

Victor touched the flower and an idea visibly lit up his face. “I forgot, I had something to show you.” He pulled Yuuri out from under the cherry tree, back down the garden path with Makkachin bouncing happily after them.

Victor sat him on the bench surrounded by azaleas and told him to wait. Yuuri played with Makkachin’s ears as Victor rushed off to some other part of the garden. When he returned, he did so with his hands behind his back, calling out to Yuuri to close his eyes. The baker listened, shutting them, hearing Victor shooing off Makkachin.

“I wanted to make up for making a mess of them last time.” Victor’s voice was light, lilted in excitement. Yuuri had to resist lifting his eyelids early. “I was going to bring them to you at the bakery, but this is better— Ah, it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Victor’s clothes rustled, and Yuuri could practically hear the concentration of whatever he was doing. A minute passed, then another, followed by a huff from Victor, and Yuuri began laughing. “What are you doing?”

“Wait a second, it’s almost finished. You can’t put flowers in my hair and expect to get away with it… Okay, open.”

Yuuri lifted his lashes. Victor knelt in front of him, his poodle looking on curiously at his side. The cherry blossom was still in Victor’s hair, and in his hands he held a wreath of baby blue roses, woven together.

“Are those… real?” Yuuri’s fingertips brushed the petals. “How?”

“They’re actually white, I had the gardeners mix in dye with the water. I planned to bring you a bouquet of them, and I thought they would turn out darker, but…” Victor leaned up and placed the wreath onto Yuuri’s head, his smile impossible. “There, a crown befitting the prince of my heart.”

Yuuri wanted to melt. Instead he felt himself sinking, the tension which had settled jerking awake to remind him that this was a scene he was not supposed to have.

Victor seemed to notice immediately, hands delicately coming to rest on Yuuri’s lap. “What’s wrong? Was that line really that bad?”

“No…” Yuuri shook his head and reached up, removing the crown of roses. “You… you make me want too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… how long can we do this? I‘m-… I don’t have anything I can give you. You’re a prince and I’m just… nothing. I don’t have any status or titles, and if we keep going like this, as much as I want to, one day you’ll have to marry someone who is a noble or royal, like you, and I don’t know if… my heart would break.” It was breaking already, fraying and splitting at the center at the mere thought of having to give Victor up. But he knew the fairytale he was living in could not last and it was better to end it now than to wait for it to shatter later. 

Victor’s face fell as he listened, then when Yuuri trailed off, he began to laugh. “Yuuri… my darling Yuuri, is that all?” He swept up the flowers and set them firmly atop Yuuri’s dark hair once more. “There’s nothing that says I have to marry nobility.”

The words absorbed slowly, meaning and promise spreading through Yuuri like the coming of summer. “What-… you don’t?”

“No. It used to be a custom, when the relationships between the kingdoms were less stable. Marry the royalty of the kingdoms to each other, prevent conflicts and war, but we’ve been at peace for so long, it’s no longer necessary.” Victor grasped Yuuri’s hands and smiled. “But if you’re worried about a title, I can give you one. Right now, if you’d like. What would you like to be? A baron? An earl? You deserve a good one. A marquis? Too much? How about a lord? I’d like the sound of that, Lord Yuuri.”

Yuuri blinked at him, trying to take it all in. 

Victor continued on. “It would be a temporary title anyway. If we wed, you would become a duke through marriage.”

Yuuri had been stunned into silence so many times that afternoon he had lost count. If he had been standing, he might have sunk to the ground, afraid of his legs giving out. “Marriage?”

A blush overcame Victor’s face, shading him the same color as the cherry blossom. “If you want to. Not now. I think it’s too soon. Unless you don’t think so… but I figured you’d want to get to know each other better first.”

Without saying anything, words lost to him even if he had wanted to, Yuuri slid off the bench. Victor still kneeled on the ground and Yuuri joined him, slipping into the prince’s arms. Victor accepted him instantly, embrace wrapping around Yuuri’s waist as he waited for Yuuri’s answer.

The sun had sunk low, nearing the horizon, and with it, the day came crashing down onto Yuuri. Everything he had walled off came surging forward, washing through him like a torrent. The pressure of the summons and the alarm which had come with it, the flood of realization of just how much he had missed and feared losing Victor. The apprehension throughout his meeting with the king, and now learning that sharing his life with the prince was not only a possibility but something that Victor was offering with no hesitations.

It all built in his spine and his lungs, clawing up through his heart and his throat to spill from his eyes as muted sobs into Victor’s chest. Yuuri clutched onto the back of Victor’s shirt, crying because he might never have to let go. Victor’s hands cradled his waist and the back of his neck, holding him close and in solace. “Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing…” Yuuri was trembling from relief, from attempting to process it all at once, from how drastically his life had been upturned. All of his wishes taken and returned twice-fold. From days spent dreaming to meet the prince to being told he could consider spending his life with him. “I’m just… really happy,” he murmured into Victor’s chest and let himself go weak in Victor’s embrace, sinking into his warmth and his strength, never wanting to be apart from it.

Victor’s lips pressed to his temple again, then to his ear, “Put your arms around my neck.” It was request and Yuuri did not question it, sliding his arms over Victor’s shoulders. 

The prince slipped one of his own under Yuuri’s knees and stood, lifting the baker with him. If he had not been hiding his tear-stained face from Victor, Yuuri might have protested. Instead, he nuzzled into Victor’s collar as the prince carried him from the fading light of the garden, into the palace. 

“I’m going to take you to my room, is that all right?” Victor asked and Yuuri nodded his consent into Victor’s shoulder. 

Before he knew it, Victor was setting the wreath of flowers onto an ornate vanity and then carrying Yuuri across a room that seemed far too large for a single person. Victor lowered Yuuri onto a bed covered in too many pillows, but Yuuri ignored them in favor of shifting closer into Victor’s side, like he had imagined doing every night since Victor had departed on his trip. 

Victor tilted his face up and removed Yuuri’s glasses, setting them aside with care before wiping the tears from his cheeks. “How are you still so beautiful?” he asked, soft and reverent, and it just brought Yuuri’s tears back in full force.

Victor held him tight until Yuuri’s tears began to subside, whispering stories from his trip, about how Jean-Jacques had reacted in sputtering shock when Victor arrived at the Leroy’s doorstep, to the scolding he had received after making a careless comment mistaking maple syrup for honey. He kept on, listening for Yuuri’s breaths to stop hitching and transform to teasing, then quiet laughter. 

Yuuri replied by telling Victor of how many people in the capital argued and placed bets on whether it had actually been Victor they saw strolling through the city. At some point, there was a knock on Victor’s door, but Victor gestured his dresser off so they could continue trading stories. He asked if Yuuri would recite the contents of the letters Victor had not yet had a chance to read, which Yuuri managed despite blushing through some parts, until the day’s exhaustion caught up to him.

Gradually, Yuuri’s answers changed into short murmurs of acknowledgment, little hums of content, then nothing other than the steadiness of his breathing and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Yuuri dozed off in the prince’s arms.

Victor shifted them further from the edge of the bed, pushed the decorative cushions toward the foot of it where Makkachin laid. Tugging over the corner of the blanket, he tucked it around Yuuri’s waist and laid down beside him, marveling at the softness of Yuuri’s skin, the length of his dark eyelashes, the curve of his lips and the sweetness with which he exhaled. 

Yuuri slept with one hand at his side and the fingers of the other peeking out from the pillow resting under his head. Victor threaded his fingers carefully through Yuuri’s, brimming with delight when they curled instinctively into his. 

Victor fell asleep with a smile on his lips and awoke with one in his heart when the dawn crept in through his tall bedroom windows. He had longed for the weight of Yuuri’s head on his chest, but it was not there, Yuuri’s hand also missing from his.

Opening his eyes, Victor wondered if he might be able to stir his sleeping beauty with a kiss, only to find the other side of the bed empty.

The crown of blue roses still rested on the vanity, but Yuuri was gone.


	12. And Even the Rain

The bedsheets were cold. No warmth lingering from Yuuri’s body, simply cold to Victor’s touch like the ache eating at his chest. Outside the rising sun which had awoken Victor disappeared behind dark clouds.

The prince sat immobile, letting his legs fall heavy over the edge of the bed. Yuuri was gone, and everything inside Victor screamed at him to go tear through the palace and into the capital to find him, because all Victor thought about over the past couple of weeks had been returning to Yuuri. 

The memory of Yuuri’s tears from the evening before weighed heavy over him, a glaring clue as to why the baker might have left without a word. The fact that Yuuri was gone should not have been a surprise. Victor could have laughed at the commonality of it, wondering if he would be resigned to spending the rest of his life pursuing Yuuri. Because he would. Victor would be more than willing to lay his heart in front of Yuuri and permit him to break it every time, as long as he would mend those fractures back together again the next time that they met.

Makkachin whined, drawing Victor’s attention. Weakly, the prince gave his poodle a pat on the head. “Will you help me find Yuuri?” Victor asked, receiving a huff and his dog jumping off the bed in response. 

Slowly, Victor followed suit, wondering if perhaps Yuuri had simply returned to the bakery. Bakers started early, right? Victor could not expect Yuuri to put his life on hold for him without warning. There had to be a good explanation for Yuuri’s absence. 

The previous day had been draining on Victor, the energy with which he normally rose missing just like the other half of his soul. It must have been overwhelming for Yuuri. He needed time to think in peace, without Victor there pressuring him into decisions, letting words like _marriage_ slip at the first chance he got. It was too much and all at once, why shouldn’t Yuuri be gone? 

Makkachin whined again, pawing at the door. Calling out to his poodle in reassurance, Victor made his way to the vanity. The dyed roses were already wilting, no longer holding their full bloom but collapsing in on themselves, blue petal tips curling inward. 

Victor stopped.

Makkachin barked, but Victor ignored him, focus entirely on the piece of parchment in full view beside the flowers. On it was one word, in Yuuri’s handwriting. Simple and clean strokes, which Victor had so dearly missed reading. _Kitchens._

Victor nearly knocked over Georgi when he rushed from his room, not giving his dresser an explanation for his hurry beyond calling out a request to take care of Makkachin’s breakfast. The prince flew down the staircase and the halls, throwing open the doors to the kitchens when he reached them.

The sweet aroma of baking pastries assaulted him and an arrow pierced through the cavity in his chest when Yuuri’s beautiful laugh rang from across the room.

Dark hair still messy from sleep, the same clothes he had been wearing the day prior rumpled over the course of the night. His blue-framed glasses were perched low on the bridge of his nose, eyes bright and shining behind them. And he wasn’t alone. 

“This is stupid, it’s getting everywhere!”

“I think you should lean forward more, your highness.”

The hollow well which had been swallowing Victor filled and overflowed. Yuuri had not left. He was right there, standing in the palace kitchens as if at home, making something with— 

“Why is it so sticky? They’re not normally like this!”

“You’re not supposed to touch them yet, your highness, let them sit.”

Victor crossed the kitchens, holding his breath in disbelief at what he was witnessing.

“For how long?”

“Ideally, a day…”

“What?!”

Victor bit back laughter, joy singing through him, delighted by the shocked scowl fowling up his brother’s face. Yuuri and Yuri, cooking together in the palace kitchens. The younger prince’s blonde hair was pulled back in a short ponytail, out of his face, and there was an apron wrapped around his waist. Victor wanted to preserve the image in his memory forever.

“They need to set, or they’ll be too soft, your highness. We usually make them the day before the banquet,” Yuuri spoke gently as ever to address the younger prince. 

“A whole day, that’s ridiculous! Why didn’t you say that before?!”

“Listen to the professional, Yura,” Victor called out, heart leaping when Yuuri’s brown eyes quickly turned to him, widening in surprise. “Especially since you stole him away from me so early in the morning.”

Yuuri’s cheeks instantly lit up, but the apology which was sure to be building never made it off his tongue. 

“I didn’t steal him,” Yuri snapped back at his brother, “I found him wandering around and saved him. Cause apparently you can’t take care of your own guests!”

Yuuri dropped his gaze when Victor looked at him. “I didn’t want to wake you, my prince,” he excused. “I wanted to send a short message to my family, so they wouldn’t be worried, and then come here to—”

“You didn’t feed him anything yesterday, you idiot!” the blonde interrupted the baker’s polite explanation. “Thought you liked the guy, yet you leave him to starve, some suitor you are.”

Oh.

“I’m fine!” Yuuri insisted upon seeing Victor’s horrified expression, “….now. I just-… I wanted to make you something to thank you.”

“These? How’d you rope Yura into helping?” Victor gestured to what looked like small pink clouds spread across the solid marble countertop. Despite his question, he had a fairly good idea how.

“No, those are mine! Paws off, he said don’t touch them,” Yuri practically growled, stepping forward possessively to hover over the zephyrs. 

Victor laughed again, the energy which had sapped from him upon waking bounding back twicefold. “Yura, did you ask him to teach you how to make zephyrs?”

Having no answer to give, Yuri glared his usual daggers at his brother.

“I offered,” Yuuri said in the blonde’s defense, but the bit of widening in the younger prince’s eyes betrayed the truth. Victor decided to let them get away with it. “Because you mentioned that he liked them, in return for convincing the attendants to let me use the kitchen… Ahh, they should be ready!”

One of the kitchen attendants came over at Yuuri’s wave to help the baker remove trays from the ovens. Victor had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the baker, afraid if he did that Yuuri might vanish once again. It felt unreal, watching Yuuri move with all the grace and purpose that Victor had first seen him through, a memory both too distant and too recent. The same kind smile decorating his lips, tranquility in his posture, words of gratitude presented to the attendant who helped him. 

Victor broke from his wonder only when Yuri jabbed at his ribs. “What was that for?!”

“You’re drooling,” Yuri scrunched up his nose in disapproval and stuck out his tongue, before his own gaze flickered over to the baker. “…Father’s right, you know.”

“About what?” Victor questioned, rubbing at the pain in his side. 

He got nothing but a pointed glare back from his brother as Yuuri returned, holding out plates with steaming pastries to each prince. 

This was how Victor wanted to spend every morning, blessed by Yuuri’s presence, never ceasing to be amazed by his perfection. 

Yuri grabbed for his, only to hiss when the fresh-from-the-oven pastry burnt at his fingertips.

“Careful, they’re still hot,” Yuuri warned, corners of his lips tugging up.

Victor burst into laughter when his brother, normally all scowls and perpetually immune to teasing, actually blushed— _blushed_ —at the comment. 

Clicking his tongue in a show of irritation, Yuri snatched his plate away and stalked off in protest. Victor did not miss how he muttered a short thanks to Yuuri when he passed by, nor how he carefully stole another pastry off one of the trays before leaving the kitchens without even a glance back.

Victor would never let him live it down. Prince Yuri, put in his place by a humble baker and not able to snap back a single word. 

“I hope you like it,” Yuuri said, drawing Victor’s attention back as he blew cool air over his own pastry, pulling off a corner. Victor watched the piece settle on Yuuri’s tongue then vanish behind pink lips. A hum of content escaped Yuuri and Victor hastened to taste for himself, wondering if he had ever been envious of a pastry before.

“What is it?” Golden sweetness spread through his mouth when he took a bite, the pastry melting into a sense of warmth and comfort. 

“I thought I would make use of your gift to me.” Yuuri’s smile sent Victor chasing after it, showering him with endless compliments about how incredible the maple pastries were until Yuuri laughed at the their excessiveness, but overjoyed Victor with his lack of protest. “I’m glad you like them. I made the cookies too. For your family, and thought I would take some to the triplets, if you don’t mind, when I leave.”

There was the reminder that Victor did not want. He wanted to keep Yuuri there with him till come the end of time itself. Yet, he did hope that Yuuri’s presence in the palace might grow far too frequent in the following weeks or months, perhaps decades if Yuuri was not opposed.

“Yuuri, what I said to you yesterday, I meant every word.”

Quietly, Yuuri finished his pastry, wiping his hands on his apron. He glanced around the palace kitchens, consideration on his face, then met Victor’s gaze. There was thought behind his eyes and in his voice when he spoke, “ I would very much like to get to know you better, my prince.”

“Then, will you permit me to come with you today?”

Yuuri nodded. “I’ve been waiting to spend the day with you since you left, how could I possibly say no?”

Victor swore the kitchens sang out with joy. Or perhaps it was the attendants that did, when Yuuri distributed the rest of his freshly made maple pastries to them in appreciation for letting him borrow the space. Victor helped Yuuri wrap up cooled maple cookies, taking a few for himself and instantly understanding why the girls had demanded them every time they saw Yuuri. 

The morning passed too quickly. Victor had Georgi show Yuuri where he could bathe and tried rather unsuccessfully not to consider the image as he hurried through addressing some more of his pressing duties. 

Except his mind kept wandering to the fact that Yuuri was playing with Makkachin in the gardens, with only a kick to his chair from his brother passing by to help him in finishing writing out a couple responses to requests made by dignitaries from the outer regions. 

However, the reward of having his Yuuri waiting for him at the palace entrance made it actually worth it. Sitting beside Yuuri in a coach was like a dream being granted, adoration dancing through him whenever Yuuri spoke, mentioning how nervous he had been first coming to the palace. Victor answered him by saying how worried he had been that Yuuri had not gotten his letters while he was traveling to the Leroy kingdom, adoring how Yuuri blushed and whispered how happy each one had made him.

When they arrived at the bakery, Victor held out his hand for Yuuri to take as they climbed out of the coach and regretted how quickly the contact left him. 

“Wait here a moment,” Yuuri said, leaving Victor in the shop front with a smirking Mila as he rushed off to speak to his parents and change clothes. Victor had told him they had plenty of things to spare for guests in the palace, but according to Georgi, Yuuri had reacted in a rather horrified manner at the offer and insisted that was not necessary. 

“You’re really sticking around then, your highness.”

Victor snapped from his thoughts when the door which separated the bakery from the kitchen slid open with a fair bit of force and he was met with a heavy gaze from Yuuri’s older sister. He noticed the same searching look coming from the redhead behind the counter. 

“With Yuuri? Yes, I intend to.”

Mila leaned forward over the shop counter and Mari’s eyes narrowed. “For the long haul?” they both asked, synced and practiced.

“For as long as he’ll have me.”

Somehow, this time around, the smiles they gave him were less than welcoming.

“Good to know, your highness, because…” Leaning out of the kitchen, Mari pointed at him with a frosting spatula that dripped with icing, “you do anything else, and we’ll carve you like that swan.”

Suddenly, Victor’s vest felt a bit tight in the chest. He nodded just as Yuuri reappeared, in light and simple clothes, a light blush on his cheeks. Mari disappeared back into the kitchen and Mila’s grin lit up like a chandelier’s. 

“Are you… are you okay to walk there with me?” Yuuri questioned.

Victor tore himself away from the concern now lacing the bakery, curious exactly what was in that note Yuuri had sent off to his family at dawn. “Of course, Yuuri, if that’s what you want.”

“I-… yeah, that’s norm—good for me.”

Victor supposed taking a royal coach through the capital for that short of a trip might be a bit excessive in Yuuri’s eyes. He did not mind, more than happy to walk alongside Yuuri again.

The sun was missing that day, hiding behind clouds tinged in grey. This time, Yuuri led them down a different route, and Victor took notice of how the eyes of people they passed followed them, how greetings came to Yuuri but that no one approached. 

Yuuri seemed less relaxed than he had been that morning as a result, shoulders tense, and when Victor reached to brush his fingers over Yuuri’s hand, the baker shied away. Victor let him, striking up conversation in hopes of settling whatever concerns appeared to be clouding Yuuri’s thoughts. “How long did you spent with my brother this morning?”

“Oh,” Yuuri looked to Victor, surprised by the question, “however long it took him to make those zephyrs.”

Victor was sorry that he missed the sight of his brother attempting to make his favorite sweets under Yuuri’s guidance. Then again, it might have given him an idea of how ridiculous he had looked when doing the same. “You had him make them all on his own?”

“I wrote the recipe down so your cooks might be able to make them for him, but he said he wanted me to show him how.”

Definitely never letting him live that down. Victor chuckled, watching some of the tension start to drain from Yuuri. “Was he a better student than me?”

Yuuri did not say anything, his eyes shifting away from Victor in guilt.

Victor gasped, feigning insult. “He was! Yuuri, my heart, you’ve broken it! How will I ever recover from such betrayal?”

“You could take a few more lessons,” Yuuri suggested, biting his lip, “my prince.”

The invitation made Victor feel like soaring, all the more when Yuuri drifted closer as they continued along the streets. “I would be your live-in student if I could. What did the two of you talk about? I hope he wasn’t yelling at you the whole time.”

“He wasn’t,” Yuuri said with a shake of his head. “He wanted to know why I liked you…”

Victor tried not to show how eager he was to know the answer to the very same question. “What did you say?”

“I said there were a lot of reasons.” Yuuri’s blush returned in full force, spilling high and deep across his cheekbones. “But… you make me forget that you’re a prince when we’re together, and… I like that a lot.”

Victor’s pulse skipped all over the place. “I hope he didn’t tell you any embarrassing stories about me.”

“Just a few,” Yuuri replied to Victor’s groans. Then a small smile settled on Yuuri’s lips and sat there for a moment while Yuuri searched for the words he wanted. “He said… he said you’ve seemed a lot happier lately… And that it’s really annoying,” Yuuri finished with a laugh. 

Victor wanted to catch it and mold it into something permanent, make it so that smile never left Yuuri. None of the treasures he had ever seen across all the kingdoms came close to the brilliance which radiated from his darling baker.

They reached the city square and Victor paused, gazing up in admiration of multi-colored flags and decorations which had been strung across sections of it, dancing in the wind. “What are those?”

“The spring festival was a couple of days ago,” Yuuri said, “they always get taken down late.”

“Did you go?” Victor asked, focus shifting to a shout which came from across the plaza. It had not been directed at them, a simple exclamation of excitement for some reason or another. 

“I stayed at the bakery this year,” Yuuri answered, crossing the square.

Against a shop front, a small crowd had gathered and Victor peered on curiously. Yuuri noticed and slowed his pace so the prince could pause to watch.

Another shout sounded out, chased by the sharp trill of strings. A group of musicians sat in front of a shop wall. The music which began to play was unlike any that Victor had heard before. The fiddle screeched out boldly, mixing with the humming of guitar strings and the beat of a tambourine. The musicians encouraged the rhythm of the percussion by stamping heels into the hardened soil and it was not long before Victor saw a few children match them, grabbing hands to jump with the music. A girl in a blue dress twirled her younger brother, the fabric waving with her movements. 

Victor was captivated, watching the musicians play off their audience, feeling like joining them in clapping when the notes dissipated. Beside him, Yuuri laughed. “You’ve never seen street musicians?”

“I never had the chance to stop and listen,” Victor replied, turning to Yuuri when another song started up, blue eyes sparkling. He was not familiar with the melodies being played out, but the question was on the tip of his tongue when Yuuri caught on and took a step back. 

“Why not?” the prince questioned.

“It’s…” Yuuri trailed off.

“I’ve wanted to dance with you again since the ball.”

Yuuri shook his head. “There’s a lot of people around,” he excused, casting Victor an apologetic look. 

“There were a lot of people at the ball,” Victor reminded. Yuuri did not budge. 

“That was… different.” He drew back again.

“Yuuri…”

“I-… people might think that… I’m sorry, not right now.” Conflict was written across Yuuri’s face and Victor guessed if he demanded it of the baker, he would not refuse. Yet despite how much Victor wanted to, he could not imagine forcing Yuuri to dance with him.

Holding back his disappointment, Victor returned to Yuuri’s side and smiled. “Another time then.”

Nodding weakly, Yuuri took another glance at the musicians. Then, with short hesitation, they resumed their walk across the capital. The sky continued to darken overhead as if to mimic the silence which fell between them.

Yuuri’s eyes were directed at the ground as he walked. He still answered the questions Victor inquired of him, describing the spring festival and how the streets would fill with stalls of shop owners displaying colorful goods, from toys for children to silk scarves brought in from the Ji kingdom. Victor imagined what it might have been like to attend it with Yuuri, bounce from stall to stall, trying the foods that Yuuri described, no matter how strange they sounded.

“A fish pancake?”

“It’s not made from fish, it’s shaped like a fish. It’s sweet.”

“Why shape it like a fish then?”

“That is an excellent question, your highness.”

By the time they reached their destination, the hint of a smile returned to the corners of Yuuri’s mouth. Victor hung back when Yuuri knocked on the door. It swung open moments later without anyone standing in the doorway, that was until Victor dropped his eyes. 

The triplets clamored around Yuuri’s legs.

“Yuuri!”

“Good morning!”

“And Prince Victor!”

“Your highness,” the triplets chorused and curtsied, erupting into giggles.

Yuuri bent down to their level, giving a light tug to pigtails. “Behave in front of royalty.”

“We were!” Axel assured.

“Do we gotta practice for you too?” asked Loop.

“Are you gonna be royalty, Yuuri?” Lutz added.

Yuuri blushed all the way down to the collar of his shirt. “Keep saying things like that, and I won’t give you any of these.”

Delighted shrieks burst forth when Yuuri produced the maple cookies.

“Oh my god, are you for real?!”

“Are you bringing more next time?”

“Thank you, Yuuri!”

Smiling fully now, he deposited a small bag in each of their cupped hands. “You should be thanking the prince, he went and got the maple for you girls.”

“Thank you, Prince Victor!” they shouted in unison. 

“Told you he was awesome.”

“So awesome.”

“Are you gonna marry Yuuri?”

The question caught both of them off guard, and heat flushed through Victor’s cheeks, no doubt bringing him to a red color akin to Yuuri’s. 

“Girls!” Their mother rushed forward, a bit out of breath, attempting to clasp her hands over three sets of mouths. She was unsuccessful for obvious reasons. “You can’t just ask someone a question like that, I apologize your highn—”

“Why not, everyone in town’s been asking!” Loop wiggled out from her mother’s grasp.

“We didn’t even tell anyone about last time!” Axel piped through Yuko’s fingers.

“Everyone thinks it’d be awesome if you were really _‘romancing the prince.’_ ” Lutz mimicked out the words she had clearly heard from someone else. “Including Mom!”

“Okaaaaay, that’s enough, go find your father and show him your cookies,” Yuko herded her children off as quickly as she could. The three departed, debating on whose share of the cookies to open first. 

Victor was beyond amused while Yuuri and Yuko appeared beyond embarrassed. 

“Everyone?” Yuuri asked after his friend hastened through several profuse apologies.

“Not everyone,” Yuko corrected, then waved her hands to dismiss it. “Not like that, but you know how gossip goes around the city. Just, the consensus is that it wouldn’t be a bad thing… In case you were wondering.” She winked at Yuuri before bowing deeply to Victor and excusing her daughters once more. They talked briefly, Victor taking note of how the woman’s eyes shifted between him and Yuuri, making him all the more curious about what kinds of rumors reportedly had flown around the capital.

When the door closed, Yuuri turned to Victor, meeting his eyes only for a moment. Victor wanted him to tell him not to worry even as butterflies fluttered excessively in his stomach, but Yuuri made no remarks regarding the comments, so Victor did not either.

They fell back into a silence somehow much easier than the previous ones. Yuuri looked lost in his thoughts, but in those less strained. As they made their way back toward the plaza, he walked closer to Victor, making the prince want to reach for his hand again. 

The streets reflected the quiet between them, bathed in the shade cast by heavy clouds. 

The first droplet hit the back of Victor’s palm. The second rolled down his cheeks and he glanced at Yuuri. The baker gazed up to see that the storm which had been building on the horizon the evening before had finally arrived.

The droplets grew thicker and Victor watched the streets empty of people, the sky overhead darkening further with each quickening step they took. The drizzle turned to more, and then the heavens seemed to descend, crying onto them. Before Victor had a chance to suggest finding cover to wait it out, Yuuri’s hand grasped hold of his.

Yuuri’s hand.

Grasped Victor’s. 

Firm and warm, fingers curling tight around Victor's with purpose flowing through the contact.

A single blink and the thought was quickly flushed away. Yuuri was not only holding onto Victor, he was pulling him along, and Victor realized that they were running down the streets together.

The raindrops burst across Victor’s skin and they kicked up water as they sprinted. Yuuri guided them back to the plaza, under the awnings of the buildings around the perimeter. 

Slightly labored exhales fell from Victor’s lips when they halted, and he glanced down at himself. The bottoms of his shoes were coated with mud, hems of his pants heavy with water. The front of his tailored vest was splotched with the rain and he felt droplets slipping down the back of his neck. He must look ridiculous.

Out on the plaza, the rain poured, droplets bouncing off the ground.

Yuuri’s hand released his and Victor marveled when he looked up at the other man, because Yuuri was smiling at him, clearly amused and not doing well at hiding it. 

“You look ridiculous,” Yuuri confirmed and Victor wondered if he had spoken aloud or if Yuuri was simply that brilliant. Yuuri was probably that brilliant. Definitely brilliant. Then Yuuri blushed and stammered quickly, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“It’s fine, I know,” Victor hastened to assure him, and warmed when he saw Yuuri’s shoulders relax. He stepped forward, glancing at Yuuri’s hand which was now fisted against the baker’s side. Then the prince gazed out, up at the sky. The clouds were weighted, shifting with multiple shades of disapproving grey, and Victor cursed them, sighing deeply. 

“Victor?” Yuuri spoke hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention so that you wouldn’t end up wet like this…”

“I don’t mind being wet,” Victor replied with a small shake of his head. “I mind missing out on being able spend the day in the sun with you. What are we supposed to do with this?” Weeks spent away from Yuuri, only to return to have the day stolen by late spring showers.

Softness settled briefly in Yuuri’s eyes and then his brow furled in concentration, his lips set into a thin line. He turned his head from side to side, clearly searching for something, his eyes scanning around the square.

Victor spotted them half a moment after Yuuri did. The baker left Victor’s side, moving quickly along the lines of shops. Victor trailed after him, realizing as he did so that he had never followed anyone before Yuuri, but also that he did not mind it at all.

Yuuri was far ahead of him, out of earshot as he spoke to the musicians they had passed earlier, who also had taken cover under the awnings from the sudden outlet of weather. They nodded at whatever Yuuri said to them, and Yuuri dug into his pockets, handing something over. 

When Victor reached the baker, Yuuri’s eyes were trained on him with intent. Yuuri had run a hand through his dampened hair, unconsciously slicking it back. His cheeks were tinted pink, but the glimmer in his eyes was one of determination.

Victor watched in awe as Yuuri stepped backwards, from under the protection of the awning and out into the open air of the plaza, into the rain. Then Yuuri smiled and held out his hand to Victor, who laughed in response.

“What are you doing?” Victor questioned incredulously as Yuuri’s clothes absorbed the cascading rain, fabric growing darker with each drop. 

“You said you wanted to dance with me again,” Yuuri stated, in far too much of a matter-of-fact manner. “Prince Victor, I am asking you to dance.”

“It’s raining,” Victor objected, even as he drew closer to the line separating the dry stone that he stood on and the wet ground beneath Yuuri.

“So?”

Rain fell onto Yuuri. Onto his hair, his face, his shoulders, his clothing, onto the hand he held outstretched in offer.

Then, rain fell onto Victor.

And the music started.

The strum and pluck of guitar permeated the chill around them, and Yuuri’s fingers laced with Victor’s as the strings of the fiddle joined in. Victor found himself being swept up into the upbeat hum of the instruments, the beat of the tambourine, the unexpected joy spread across Yuuri’s lips. 

Encircled by the music, Victor mimicked Yuuri’s every step, following as Yuuri led, because he could follow Yuuri forever, to the end of the world and beyond. He would leap without hesitation over the edge if it meant falling with Yuuri, falling for Yuuri. 

Victor’s heart raced with each movement between them, each time that Yuuri drew him close with the pull of the music. Victor found that his laughter joined in with the melody as Yuuri tugged on his hand, spinning Victor into him with the swell of the music, his arm looped around the prince’s waist for all too brief a moment before they parted with the bold trill of the fiddles. Yuuri guided them through every step and sway and whirl, and Victor overflowed with yearning.

The rain did not let up, turning instead into a downpour. Victor could no longer hear the hum of the music over the heavy sound of the pouring rain, over the sensation of drowning in Yuuri’s delighted eyes. Victor was not sure if the musicians were still playing or not, but he did not need them, lost in the music of Yuuri’s laugh, the rhythm of the splashing water under their feet.

The packed earth beneath them had turned to mud and Victor’s clothing was soaked through, heavy and plastered to his skin. Yet, Yuuri remained a stunning image before him. 

Water fell from the tips of Yuuri’s dark hair, droplets glittering in his lashes even as he blinked them away, his shirt clinging to the subtle lines of his muscles. Yuuri shone of life and beauty as he continued to led Victor in dancing through the mud which splattered their clothing, sullying it with every step, through the brilliant cold of the rain, and the feeling of being alive.

And Victor never wanted them to stop.

Yuuri’s breathlessness matched his own when their movements finally slowed, fading as the music had faded, but Victor could not bring himself to let go, to release Yuuri, to let him slip away, afraid that Yuuri would somehow simply vanish if Victor’s eyes left him for even a single heartbeat, because Yuuri had vanished after every other dance and Victor knew that if it happened again he would simply shatter.

As quickly as the storm had come, it departed. 

Victor held onto Yuuri, watched the clouds part and the sun break over him, illuminated him, sending rays of light radiating from every drop of water that clung to his skin and hair and clothing, clung to him like Victor desperately wanted to. He wanted to evaporate with the sheer force of the rush coursing through every fiber of his soul, bursting and melting and pleading simply for Yuuri.

Yuuri, who had not looked away, who remained in Victor’s hands, fingers curled warm and adoring through Victor’s.

Yuuri, whose beautiful, radiant, impossible face was flushed with dance and joy and something else.

Yuuri, who smiled at Victor, smiled like the sun above them, smiled like the music, and smiled like love. Like love.

Victor lost himself.

But he found Yuuri.

Found his hands releasing Yuuri’s for one terrifying second only to take hold of Yuuri’s face, fingers trembling against his skin. Found himself stepping in to close the fraction of distance between them, and found his lips caressing Yuuri’s.

Half a second of breathlessness. 

And then Yuuri responded, his hands plunging into Victor’s silver hair. His lips moved sweet and hesitant and wanting against Victor’s, body flush against that of the prince, cold with the rain and hot with proximity. Victor closed his eyes and his heart exploded with color.

Victor had always imagined that Yuuri’s lips would be warm. Instead they were cool, chilled from the rain and the wind. Trembling, they warmed quickly against his, the feel of them tearing into that expanding fierceness in his chest that had been calling out for Yuuri since Victor had first seen him. 

Droplets of water fell from their hair and mixed into the kiss as Yuuri exhaled, and Victor drank it in, because he wanted to cling to everything that was Yuuri. He would stay there forever, letting the pooled rainwater seep into the fabric of his shoes and chill him to the bone, if it meant staying with Yuuri. 

Yuuri’s lips left his, but Victor was not ready to let go, to relinquish this. He stroked his thumbs over Yuuri’s cheekbones, brimming and bubbling with the wild affection that he knew he could never be without again.

Victor tipped their foreheads together, drinking in every sweet breath of air lingering in the short valley separating their mouths. “Please don’t disappear this time,” Victor begged, his whisper ghosting across Yuuri’s lips. “Stay with me…”

Slowly, Victor lifted his lashes, and Yuuri was still there, his brown eyes glittering, refusing to leave Victor’s. 

Yuuri did not let him go. Yuuri did not vanish.

His arms around Victor, fingers gently buried in strands of silver hair, rain still dripping from his own, Yuuri stayed.

And then, he kissed Victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Kiss™](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com/post/159247354749/crimson-chains-a-commission-for-lucycamui-an)


	13. Into Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, [if you missed the amazing art crimson-chains did for chapter twelve then you should definitely bask in its beauty because it's incredible beyond words.](https://crimson-chains.tumblr.com/post/159246870072/a-commission-for-lucycamui-an-amazing-cinderella)
> 
> Secondly, I want to say thank, thank you, thank you to everyone who had read, commented, made artwork, recommended, and enjoyed this fic with me. All the support I've received has been overwhelming and positive. Overall, this fandom never ceases to amaze me.
> 
> Thirdly, I'll be taking a short break (and by short break I mean writing some oneshots) before starting on my next series! In addition, cryingoverspilledvodka (author of The Boyfriend Experience) and I will be collaborating on a Victuuri rom-com that we are both so excited about! So if you're interested in more of my work, please subscribe or follow me on tumblr [lucycamui](https://lucycamui.tumblr.com) to see when I update!
> 
> Now, without further ado... a fairytale reaches its conclusion...

The Crown Prince of Nikiforov was well-known across the kingdoms for a great many things. His beauty and silver hair were almost legendary. Whenever he visited other kingdoms, crowds often clamored for a glimpse, to see the truth behind the myths or to whisper to friends, _see I told you he was gorgeous, why can’t we have a royal like that._

He was known to be kind, rarely seen without a sparkle in his stunningly blue eyes and a heart-shaped smile on his lips. When he walked, he carried himself proudly, ever maintaining the image of someone well aware of the power he held over others, yet was never seen to take advantage of it. 

It was also known that he could be a quite forgetful of times, but even if he forgot a name he was particularly skilled at charming his way around the issue. Very few people did not fall to pieces with a wink and a well-timed smile from the prince. 

Amongst the inner circles of the royals and dignitaries of the other kingdoms though, there had been whispers for as long as most could recall. That as each year passed, the shine in the prince’s eyes and the ripple of his laughter which had captured so many hearts had dulled. His visits to the other kingdoms grew fewer. He became less and less the center of the party at banquets and events, skipping on invitations, sometimes not answering to them whatsoever. His responses to anyone who approached in person were as pleasant as ever, but that was all that could be said. 

The prince remained beloved, but many wondered if perhaps it was the prince who needed someone to love. 

Yet, it was not before long that the love a great many people had for the prince was swayed, stolen from him. Instead, it was bestowed with incredible joy upon the lovely, dark-haired man who came to be a constant presence at the prince’s side. 

Across the kingdoms, nobility and commoners alike fell hard for those sparkling brown eyes, the shy curve to those lips, the pink which dusted high across cheekbones at the smallest compliment. Fell as hard as the prince had so obviously fallen, as he had attention for no one else whenever Yuuri was beside him. As if anyone could blame him. 

Festivals and parties the world over clamored for a chance to invite Yuuri to attend and bring his incredible pastries. More and more after each offer he accepted, with many a noble sighing in disappointment every time the baker returned to his home kingdom. 

Yuuri was always happy to visit neighboring regions, to sell his baked goods and books of recipes to long lines, to sometimes teach children how to make simple cookies or to exchange techniques with other pastry chefs who treated him like a master despite Yuuri insisting he was nothing of the sort. However, he was even happier at the end of his trips to be reunited with Victor, who could not always accompany him.

Whereas the prince was a sharp and cutting type of gorgeous, his betrothed carried a soft beauty that blended like magic with the tenderness of his voice. If the prince had been kind, his Yuuri came to be known as an angel. The gentle way in which he received greetings and responded with the sincerest of gratitude. The way he always seemed dazed in happiness whenever the prince’s hand settled on his arm or his back. 

In turn, the gleam in the prince’s eyes and the warmth in his laughter returned, brighter than ever and exponentially so when he was with Yuuri.

Each kingdom seemed to have a different tale about how the prince had proposed to the baker.

In the Crispino kingdom, it was said that the prince had trained a swan to swim up to Yuuri while the two of them strolled alongside a lily-filled pond in the summer. Around its neck had been looped a necklace, strung with golden rings. When the story was told, all sighed with the romance of it, until it was added that the swan the prince trained had found a mate in the meantime, which proceeded to chase the prince away with flapping wings and screeches the moment he had attempted to fetch the rings so he could propose to Yuuri. The tale concluded with the baker laughing out his yes as he tended to his foolish prince’s swan-inflicted injuries.

The Ji kingdom was a little kinder to the prince, passing on whispers that he had proposed to Yuuri by making him a cake shaped like lopsided heart, all on his own and without any help, following a simpler recipes in one of Yuuri’s books. At some point though, the prince had messed up his measurements and used too much sugar, but far too sweet was an accurate metaphor for his relationship with the baker anyway.

The citizens of Giacometti exchanged the story that following the dance in the plaza of the Nikiforov capital—which had in fact been witnessed by more than a few people—the baker treated his prince to a far more private dance. At the end of which, all the prince could do was fall to his knees in order to formally request Yuuri’s hand forever, in marriage. 

Iglesia talked of perhaps the most adored story, in which the prince had rose bushes specifically planted and colored blue to form the words _Marry Me_. If anyone were to visit the gardens of the Nikiforov palace, they would still be able to find the bushes there, well-maintained and dearly beloved by both the prince and his baker, a daily reminder of their promised intention.

Those of the Leroy kingdom were convinced that it had not been the prince at all, but his baker that proposed, by baking hundreds of different types of maple-flavored sweets, so impressed he had been by how Victor had restored the relationships between the two kingdoms. All the other kingdoms agreed to dismiss this theory without informing the Leroys of the consensus. 

However, it soon became rumored that if anyone should approach the baker to inquire which of the stories were true, that beautiful blush would powder his skin and in response he would whisper, _all of them._

The rumor continued that if pressed on how that could possibly be true, Yuuri would confess that the prince proposed every day. Sometimes in acts of grandeur and at others through simple private whispers, but that Victor never stopped ensuring Yuuri of his promise and his love.

~~~~~~~

The first rays of sun danced across the prince’s pale skin and turned his hair into the illusion of moonlight. The steady rhythm of Victor’s breathing did not match the drumming in Yuuri’s chest, but it accented the fluttering of disbelief in his stomach.

Leaning in, Yuuri brushed bangs from Victor’s face, tucking the strands behind his ear with delicacy, before catching an exhale falling from Victor’s lips with his own. 

There were few things the prince demanded of Yuuri, and none were ever something he would have refused Victor given the choice. However, one such demand was for Yuuri to always stir the prince in the morning before he left, no matter how early it be. Yuuri was always more than happy to oblige, loving how the prince’s lips would always turn to the subtlest smile in reaction to his kiss, how he would sometimes lift silver lashes to wish Yuuri the best of mornings, and how at other times he would simply murmur incomprehensible sweet words before burying himself into pillows, not yet ready to rise with his baker. 

On the occasional morning, Victor’s arms would wind around him and Yuuri would resign himself to the embrace, until the prince’s dresser came to politely remind the both of them that they had business to attend. Truth be told, Yuuri never truly wanted to leave anyway. 

When the rains of their first spring together evaporated into the warm days of June, the prince had raced kites with the triplets at the summer festival and Yuuri could not explain why it was he laughed so much when Victor did get his feet tangled up in the strings the first time he tried. 

Yuuri had bought Victor the sweet cake shaped like a fish that so fascinated him. The delight which painted across Victor’s face at the taste echoed the affection leaping through Yuuri more with each day they spent together. Victor had asked Yuuri to dance with him again when they passed the musicians in the plaza, and Yuuri accepted the invitation after only a moment of pause.

After the festivities in the capital quieted, Yuuri had taken Victor to the coastline not far from the city. They spent the late afternoon walking barefoot in the sand, listening to the steady roll of the glittering waves. 

Victor’s hand had not left Yuuri’s for the entirety of the day, while the flush on Yuuri’s face had become a nearly permanent fixture with how many flirtatious lines the prince dropped and how many kisses he stole. They talked of everything and nothing, getting to know each other more, just as the prince had said. Day after day, they continued to do so whenever time permitted, and in exchanged letters when it did not. 

It was one day late in summer that the prince refused to let go of Yuuri’s hands at the end of an afternoon spent together, asking if Yuuri would not be opposed to spending the evening, and perhaps the night, at the palace. Yuuri had not been opposed. 

Dining in the formality of the palace might have been uncomfortable had it not been for Victor’s bright smile and how easily his conversation made Yuuri forget any of his nerves, leaving him to appreciate the design of the china and the richness of the food. When night fell, an attendant had escorted Yuuri to a guest room, as was said to be proper.

However, it had felt strange to be in the palace in a room of his own, with walls spread too far, with a bed too big, sheets too cool and blankets too warm. After an hour of feeling strangely out of place, Yuuri gathered up enough courage to go seek out Victor, only to discover the prince standing outside the door. Yuuri had never slept more peacefully than he did in the prince’s arms. 

The guest room remained always arranged, but never used. Everyone noticed, but what gossip could possibly be spread other than the obvious tidbits of just how smitten with each other were the prince and his baker. 

At the start of fall, Yuuri had received his first invitation from outside the capital. A region in the southeast, to prepare his desserts for a party hosted by Duke Otabek, who had apparently heard of Yuuri’s skills not from Victor but from the younger prince. Following its success, more and more requests came in from regions further and further away, interlaced with envelopes carrying the marks of foreign nobility. 

As he spent less and less time in his family’s bakery, Yuuri trained the Kenjiro boy as his replacement. Minami always regarded Yuuri with stars in his eyes akin to those which shone in Victor’s, but made for a much better student than either of the princes ever had. His family was happy enough, and Mila was pleased to have an assistant that rivaled her levels of energy.

Come the winter, Victor requested Yuuri accompany him on a journey to the Lee kingdom, their first trip outside the Nikiforov borders together. There, a stone-faced royal and Victor taught Yuuri a pastime called ice-skating, done on the surface of a frozen lake. Yuuri spent the majority of the time clinging to his prince’s arms, yelping each time he nearly slipped, but by the end of it, could manage a tiny twirl which delighted Victor beyond measure. 

To express his gratitude for the hospitality, Yuuri crafted a tart laced with the plum liquor favored by locals and then found himself returning home with a sapling from which the fruit would grow. It was planted in the palace’s garden, the first of its kind to ever leave the Lee kingdom borders.

When the snowdrops began to sprout, Yuuri began spending nearly every day in the palace. His mornings spent baking were replaced by days spent learning. As the invitations, requests and pleas continued to mount, the decision was made for Yuuri to become formally versed in all the intricacies that came when consorting with royalty. 

The first class consisted of manners and etiquette, stressing the point that Yuuri could not send gifts back to various royal families and nobles of note, no matter how excessive he found them. Yuuri had wondered if it were possible to pass the gifts onto those he felt more deserving or would find them more of use than he, and was granted the compromise. As long as he consented to keep the tokens he could easily show off when the gift-givers themselves came to greet him. 

Yuuri learned more about laws and agreements between kingdoms than he ever realized existed. He learned about trade policies and tax distribution, two aspects as fascinating as they were technically boring and complicated. His education in that realm was minimal, yet Yuuri would never cease to be impressed with how well and deeply Victor actually did understand all of it. 

Yuuri studied the greetings and customs that differed from kingdom to kingdom. One such lesson came as a result of direct experience, when the visiting prince of Giacometti expressed his delight at seeing Yuuri again by kissing him firmly, not once but twice, on each cheek. Yuuri had stammered through thanks as Christophe spoke rather shamelessly about how lucky _Victor_ was to have found _Yuuri_ , and not the other way around. It still shocked Yuuri that all the royal families seemed to agree in that regard.

However, at least a couple times during the week, Yuuri could still be seen in the kitchens allowing his creativity to flow or hand-in-hand with the prince in the gardens, wandering or dancing together, the prince helping Yuuri to escape the stresses of adapting to what would soon be his new role. Yet, if asked, Yuuri could honestly reply that he had never been happier.

Yuuri pulled back from kissing his prince to be greeted by a smile and the bluest eyes. 

“Leaving me so early, today of all days?” Victor’s fingers tangled with his as Yuuri nodded.

“You know our schedule today will not be forgiving of sleeping in or distractions,” Yuuri replied, feeling that now all too familiar tugging on his heart when Victor laughed. The warmth it brought bloomed impossibly vast over the course of the year spent together and bore no hint of ever wilting.

“Are you calling me a distraction?” Victor asked, thumb stroking along the back of Yuuri’s hand, not yet ready to permit Yuuri to depart from his bed. 

“The best and the worst kind,” Yuuri answered, very much in love with the pout Victor gave him when Yuuri’s fingers slipped from his hand. “You’ll see me soon enough.”

Victor caught his hand again and brought it to his lips, kissing Yuuri’s knuckles and then his fingertips, before guiding it gently over so he could kiss Yuuri’s palm and the inside of his wrist. “And every morning after.”

When Yuuri had first started to become a regular fixture in the palace, the suggestion was made for an attendant to be assigned as his dresser. Yuuri had profusely refused, insisting he could dress himself without assistance, until he discovered how tricky how some of the formalwear could be. 

Victor dotted brief, tingling kisses across Yuuri’s shoulders before holding up a shirt for him to slide his arms through. They helped each other do up buttons, taking any and every opportunity to stay close together. When they finished, Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hands tightly and smiled as beautifully as ever before heading off to make sure all the arrangements were set for the guests that would be soon to arrive for that day’s ceremony and celebrations. 

In turn, Yuuri made his way to the kitchens.

Despite the early morning, the kitchens were bustling. Several royals and dignitaries from further kingdoms had arrived within a couple days prior, so the activities were doubled. Yuuri easily greeted the attendants at work, washing his hands and rolling up sleeves. The apron was barely over his head when he heard his voice called. 

“Don’t you have more important things to be doing right now?” Nevertheless, Mila caught him in a tight hug when he made his way to the furthest part of the kitchen. Alongside her, Mari and Minami were prepping the countertops. His sister gave him a smile, then pulled Minami back to attention after Yuuri’s replacement finished squeaking out his excited greetings.

“I have time, I wanted to help,” Yuuri answered, checking the list of what the palace had requested hung nearby. It was the first he had seen it. Victor had asked Yuuri for his own personal favorites and it felt a bit strange to see his own requests written amongst all the other pastries. 

“But—”

“Let him,” Mari cut off Mila’s protest. “We should be honored that his grace here considers us worthy of his time.” Her tone was teasing, but Yuuri still shifted in mild discomfort.

“Don’t call me that,” Yuuri said, helping Minami arrange ingredients in batches to make the process of preparing all the different desserts as smooth as possible. “I’m not.”

“Not yet but very, very soon lil’ brother,” Mari called out as she walked to the pantries. “You gotta get used to hearing it. I told Minami he needs to address you like that from today.”

Yuuri arched his eyebrows, laughing shortly when Minami promptly bowed and echoed the title. “You really don’t have to,” he assured the boy, but resigned himself to it for the rest of the morning. Whenever he asked Minami to help him with something, he heard the _yes, your grace!_ echoing back at him each time.

It hardly surprised him to see the list of pastries ended with an order for _two_ swans made of choux and chantilly, to be arranged facing each other, necks craned forward to form a heart. Of course Victor would have asked for it. Yuuri ensured they were a direct reflection of the two tiny ones he had had Mila deliver to the prince at the ball the previous spring. 

The nerves which had been flittering through him over the course of the week settled as he worked, answering all of Mila’s pressing questions about how long he and the prince would be traveling for starting from the day after next, about which of the kingdoms he was most looking forward to seeing, about how his palace life was treating him thus far and whether he felt ready to commit to it permanently, about if he was aware of any royals who may be interested in courting a redhead like herself. 

Mari passed on the news that everyone in the capital intended to celebrate the day’s event for at least a week, and that their parents had been more than overjoyed to have a good portion of the festivities centered at the bakery. They were busy preparing back home, and Mari chidingly reminded Yuuri not to forget to stop by once he had returned from his tour of the kingdoms. 

Yuuri still considered said tour to be a bit excessive considering representatives from all the royal families would be arriving to meet him that day, but he could not deny that he dearly looked forward to seeing the rest of the world. All the more as he would have Victor at his side for the entirety of it. 

The desserts were approximately half-finished when an attendant came in to tell Yuuri it was time for him to start getting ready. Mila hugged him tightly, already blinking away the tears in her eyes while insisting that she wasn’t. Mari ruffled his hair, telling him to get going and to remember to find them during the evening’s party, so the family could all give him their congratulations properly. 

Yuuri cast a glance over his shoulder as he left the kitchens. At the two beautifully prepared white swans which would serve as an admittedly appropriate centerpiece. The image of the dancing, courting swans sent all sorts of fluttering through his stomach, yet it was entirely pleasant.

~~~~~~~

“Do tell, _chéri_ , can we expect a repeat of last year’s grand banquet or are you going to be hogging that delightful boy to yourself all night?”

“He made me promise not to let him have that much champagne, so the answer to your first question is probably not,” Victor answered, smiling at the memory. Yuuri had insisted, that no matter how nervous or flustered he got, the only reassurance he would need was Victor’s hand holding onto his. He wanted to cherish every memory they were to create that day and night, and Victor fervently agreed. 

Chris sighed dramatically, as if crushed in disappointment. “And to the second?”

“I’m afraid I will be quite selfish tonight,” Victor said and his friend winked knowingly in response. 

The guests had finished arriving and getting settled, being tended to by the king and the younger prince while they waited. As time ticked along, anticipation surged more and more through Victor. From across the room, Georgi threw Victor a pointed glare when the prince fidgeted with his clothing, even more formal than the usual. 

“A shame,” Chris mused and tugged at folds in Victor’s white sleeves, straightening them. He smoothed down the golden accents on the crown prince’s shoulders. Victor found himself growing more and more impatient in seeing how Yuuri looked in his matching ceremonial attire. Undoubtedly gorgeous. “Your kingdom’s most eligible bachelor, snatched from the world.”

“I didn’t know you were interested.”

Chris laughed and patted him on the chest. “I didn’t mean you, _chéri_ , I meant your dear Yuuri. What luck you have. Everyone who has ever met him is in love, and he’s got eyes only for you. Magical.”

“I still expect you to behave around him.”

“I give my word. Unless he asks me to dance again, I’m not refusing,” Chris teased. “I did have something else to ask you though, before you’re too far gone in love with each other. I tried asking him yesterday, but he wouldn’t give me a clear answer.”

“Another bet?” Victor had seen how his father had forced a scowl at Chris that morning, when the Giacometti prince made the point that he had won their prior one. 

“Just a small one,” Chris stated, all innocence in his voice and sparkle in his eyes. “We’re all dying to know which of the kingdoms you’ll be adopting from first. Because, let me say right now, if it’s not from mine, I don’t know if it’ll ever be able to forgive such heartbreak. Trade embargo, just like the Leroy’s had.”

“On what, questionable fashion?”

Playing like he was wounded, Chris laid a hand over his own heart, above patterns formed from miniature red gemstones contrasting shimmering black fabric. “And I’m left questioning even more what that dear boy sees in you.” 

Victor’s retort fell to buzzing excitement when the waiting room door opened, Yuuri guided in by an attendant. All words, all thoughts not revolving around the wonder standing in front of Victor faded.

The white and gold of the ceremonial suit radiated off Yuuri’s form, sharp lines accenting his figure. Victor’s pulse must have stopped beating, mind ceased functioning, the very breath knocked from his lungs at the sight of Yuuri. Dark hair swept back, brown eyes mirroring admiration when they met Victor’s. His posture carried confidence and yet the beloved pink still highlighted his cheeks as he approached. 

Victor’s heart had long abandoned him, a gift Yuuri had accepted, presenting Victor with his own in its place. The universe could not have granted Victor a better treasure, one gracious and ethereal before him.

“Are you ready, my love?” 

Because Victor was. Ready to present Yuuri to the entirety of the world and watch it fall just as deeply in love as he had. Victor had never been more certain of anything his entire life. Of spending every day with his Yuuri, his darling, his baker, his duke. And before the sun would set on the garden ceremony, his husband. 

Smile gracing his lips, Yuuri did not hesitate to take the prince’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In a realm not far away, a glittering fairy got his license.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Like a Fairytale [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779859) by [sobieru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobieru/pseuds/sobieru)




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